IILLIP 


THE  LIBRARY 

OF 

THE  UNIVERSITY 

OF  CALIFORNIA 

RIVERSIDE 


REMINISCENCES 

OF 

WILLIAM   WETMORE    STORY. 


William   Wetmore  Story. 


REMINISCENCES 


OF 


William  Wetmore  Story 

mxe  £.xx\evtcan  gkcvilptov  cmfc  S^uthov 


BEING 


INCIDENTS   AND   ANECDOTES 

CHRONOLOGICALLY    ARRANGED 


TOGETHER  WITH  AN  ACCOUNT  OF  HIS  ASSOCIATIONS 

WITH  FAMOUS  PEOPLE  AND  HIS  PRINCIPAL 

WORKS  IN  LITERATURE  AND 

SCULPTURE. 


BY 

MARY  E.  PHILLIPS. 
/// 


CHICAGO  AND  NEW   YORK: 

Rand,  McNally  &  Company. 
1897. 


Copyright,  1897,  by  Mary  E.  Phillips. 


DEDICATION. 


"All  that  we  ever  did  were  but  as  dust 
Without  these  simple  words  —  Hope,  Love,  and  Trust.' 


WITH    THESE    WORDS    BY    THEIR    GRANDFATHER,  THIS    MEMORIAL 
OF    WILLIAM    WETMORE   STORY    IS    INSCRIBED 

TO 

GWENDOLYN    MARION   and  VIVIEN  WALDO, 

THE   ONLY   ONES   OF   HIS   GRANDCHILDREN 
WHO    BEAR   THE   NAME   OF 


STORY. 


PREFACE. 

Material  for  the  following  pages  was  obtained 
through  a  letter  of  introduction  to  the  late  Mr. 
Story  from  Miss  Eliza  Allen  Starr  of  Chicago, 
Illinois. 

This  letter  was  written  eight  or  ten  years  ago 
with  the  purpose  of  enabling  the  bearer  to  obtain 
all  possible  information  for  Miss  Starr's  "  Lectures 
Upon  Living  Artists."  It  naturally  gave  unusual 
opportunities  for  hearing  from  Mr.  Story's  own 
lips  much  that  was  of  the  greatest  interest  and 
value,  and  resulted  in  an  acquaintance  which 
afterward  became  friendship.  Most  generously 
has  Miss  Starr  paid  an  artist's  tribute  to  an  artist's 
memory  by  devoting  her  own  manuscript,  and 
several  manuscripts  in  Mr.  Story's  handwriting, 
to  the  purposes  of  the  present  volume,  which  also 
includes  incidents  and  anecdotes  furnished  by 
other  friends,  as  well  as  notices  and  descriptions 
from  the  public  press.  Besides,  frequent  reference 
has  been  made  to  the  works  of  the  poet-artist 
himself,  whose  genius  now  belongs  to  the  world 
by  right  of  inheritance. 

(7) 


8   ,  PREFACE. 

In  writing  these  "  Reminiscences  of  William 
Wetmore  Story,"  the  chief  aim  has  been  to  bring 
out  the  strong  and  attractive  personality  of  the  man 
in  every  phase  of  his  brilliant  career,  and  so  help 
the  world  to  become  better  acquainted  both  with 
his  artistic  and  literary  work.  As  a  fitting  intro- 
duction we  quote  his  own  reverent  words  upon 
his  father  —  words  equally  applicable  to  the  son: 

"  The  simple  recital  of  what  he  did  is  his  best 
eulogium.  His  works  are  his  best  monument.  His 
life  preaches  the  gospel  of  labor.  In  it  was  no  hour 
wasted,  no  energy  undeveloped,  no  talent  mis- 
applied or  unemployed.  It  was  spent  in  no  idle 
dreaming,  in  no  immoral  or  empty  pursuit  of 
worldly  pleasures,  but  it  was  earnestly  devoted 
from  beginning  to  end  to  the  attainment  of  pure 
ends  by  pure  means.  Perfection  is  not  allowed  to 
mortal  man,  but  there  was  in  him  a  singularly 
exact  adjustment  of  passions  and  faculties  —  the 
motive  power  of  the  one  being  just  equal  to  the 
distributive  power  of  the  other. 

"How  difficult  to  do  justice  to  him!  In  his 
domestic  life  he  was  the  sunshine  of  our  family 
circle.  He  was  forgetful  of  himself,  yet  mindful 
of  the  least  interest  or  pleasure  of  others;  self- 
denying  when  the  sacrifice  was  unknown  and  un- 
appreciated; thoroughly  unselfish  even  in  the 
details  of  life;  generous  of  kind  acts  and  expres- 
sions; satisfied  with  any  portion  of  the  good  of 


PREFACE.  9 

daily  life  which  might  fall  to  him;  the  first  to  sur- 
render his  own  wishes  to  the  careless  whim  of 
another;  and  withal,  joyous,  lively,  and  beaming. 

"  So  was  he  every  day  and  all  day.  Its  morning 
and  its  evening  twilight  were  alike  dear."  Even 
within  the  shades  of  life's  twilight,  until  bereaved 
of  his  wife,  "he  was  a  boy  in  enthusiasm  and 
spirits." 

So  far  as  it  lay  within  the  power  of  human 
nature,  William  Wet  more  Story  beautified  and 
beatified  every  relationship  of  life.  He  sleeps  in 
the  Protestant  Cemetery  at  Rome,  beneath  the 
shadows  of  its  "whispering  pines"  and  the  old 
Aurelian  Wall,  scarce  a  span  from  Shelley's  heart 
and  from  Severn.  His  wife,  the  love  he  could  not 
live  without,  rests  here,  his  nearest  and  dearest 
company;  and  now  the  memory  of  his  beautiful 
character  and  of  his  gifted  and  well-spent  life 
seems  like  "  a  spire,  whose  silent  finger  points  to 
heaven." 


CONTENTS. 


CHAPTER  PAGE 

I.   Ancestry.     (1743-1819), 17 

II.  Birth  and  Early  Years  of  W.  W.  Story  at 
Salem,  Mass.  Salem  Home  and  Asso- 
ciations. LaFayette.  Poem, "  Childhood." 
(1819-1829), 23 

III.  "Fireside  Travels,"  by  James  Russell  Low- 

ell. Boyhood  in  Cambridge.  Washington 
Allston.     (1829-1834),  ....       29 

IV.  Judge  Story's  Home  in  Cambridge.    Death 

of  Mr.  Story's  Sister,  Louisa.  Colonel  Hig- 
ginson's  Letter.  Cambridge  School  Days. 
Social  Life.     (1829-1834),    ....       34 

V.  Second  Cent.  Harvard  College  Festival. 
Letters  from  Judge  Story  and  J.  T.  Cool- 
idge.  Home  Life.  Charles  Sumner.  Har- 
riet Martineau.  Letters  from  S.  L.  Abbott, 
Judge  Story,  and  R.  H.  Dana.  (1834-36),  41 
VI.    "Margaret  Fuller's  Conversations."   (1841),     54 

VII.  Practice  of  Law.  Letter  from  W.  I.  Bow- 
ditch.  Love  of  Art.  Charles  Sumner. 
Letter  from  Judge  Story.  "Advice  to  a 
Young  Lawyer,"  a  Poem  by  Judge  Story. 
Legal  Writings.  (1841-1846),  ...  56 
VIII.  Early  Literary  Efforts.  Contributions  to 
the  Boston  Miscellany  and  the  Pioneer. 

(1842-1843), 62 

(11) 


12  CONTENTS. 

CHAPTER  PAGE 

IX.  Social  Life.  Courtship.  Marriage.  Mrs. 
W.  W.  Story.  Birth  of  Daughter,  Edith 
Marion  Story.    (1843-1S45),        ...       71 

X.   Judge  Story's  Illness  and  Death.      Commis- 
sion for  Judge  Story's  Statue.    (1845-1847),     75 

XI.    Publication  of  First  Volume   of   Poems  by 

W.  W.  Story.     (1847), 81 

XII.  Birth  of  their  Son,  Joseph  Story.  Death  of 
Mr.  Story's  Sister,  Mary  Story  Curtis. 
Preparations  for  Europe.    (1847-1848),      .       85 

XIII.  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Browning.    (1848-1849),  .       88 

XIV.  Margaret  Fuller  Ossoli.     (1848-1850),  .       92 
XV.    Palazzo  Barberini — Its  Associations.     (1849- 

1850), 97 

XVI.   The  Sculptor's  First  and  Second  Studios  in 

Rome.     (1851), 103 

XVII.    Letter  of   James   R.    Lowell.       "Life  and 

Letters  of  Joseph  Story."    (1849-1852),     .     106 

XVIII.  Some  of  Story's  Works— "Arcadian  Shep- 
herd Boy,"  "  Hero,"  "  Marguerite."  Death 
of  his  Mother.  Delivery  of  Judge  Story's 
Statue  to  Mt.  Auburn  Trustees.     (1852- 

1855), no 

XIX.  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Browning.  Death  of  his  Little 
Son,  Joseph  Story.  Poem,  "Fairyland." 
Birth  of  Thomas  Waldo  Story.   (1853-1854),  113 

XX.  "Castle  Palo,"  "An  Estrangement,"  "In 
St.  Peter's,"  "Italy  and  New  England," 
'  'At  Villa  Conti. "  Prologue  on  Crawford's 
Statue  of  Beethoven.    (1856),     .        .        .     119 

XXI.  Birth  of  Julian  R.  Story.  Siena.  Statues 
of  Judith,  President  Quincy,  Venus. 
Relief,  Race  with  Goats.  Group  of  Little 
Red  Riding  Hood.     (1856-1862),        .         .     126 


CONTENTS. 


13 

PAGE 


CHAPTER 

XXII.    Mrs.  Stowe's  "  Sojourner  Truth,  the  Libyan 

Sibyl."  The  First  Cleopatra.    (1860-1862),     130 

XXIII.  "  Roba  di  Roma."    Poem ," Roba  di  Roma," 

published  1878.    (1862-1863),      .         .         .136 

XXIV.  "American  Neutrality."    (1862-1863)  ,         •     142 
XXV.   Sappho.     Saul.     Medea.    (1 863-1 864),         .     147 

XXVI.  Letter  from  James  Russell  Lowell.  Statues 
of    Edward  Everett  and  Delilah.     (1S65- 

1866),  151 

XXVII.  ' '  Proportions  of  the  Human  Form  According 
to  a  New  Canon."  Statue  of  George 
Peabody.     Group  of  Cupid   and  Sphinx. 

(1S66-1867),  154 

XXVIII.   Selections  from  "Graffiti  d'  Italia."   Switzer- 
land.   (1866-1868),       158 

XXIX.  Summer  Vacation  in  Scotland.  "  Mystery  or 
Passion  Plays."  Canidia.  Salome.  Jeru- 
salem.   (1869-1871),  ....     165 

XXX.  Studio  Via  San  Martino,  7.  Mr.  Waldo 
Story's  Studio.  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Julian 
Story.     (1S71-1895),      ....  169 

XXXI.  Statue  of  Helen.  Introduction  to  Wej-'s 
"  Rome."  Cumaean  Sibyl.  Statuettes  of 
Beethoven.     (1872-1873),  .         .         .     173 

XXXII.  "Phryne  Before  the  Tribunal"  (poem). 
"  Roman  Lawyer  in  Jerusalem."  Charles 
Sumner.      (1874) J77 

XXXIII.  Statues— Alcestis  and  Lear.     Tragedies  of 

"Nero"  and  "Stephania."    (1874-1876),     .     1S1 

XXXIV.  Marriage  of  Mr.  Story's  Daughter.     (1876),     184 

XXXV.  Visit  to  America— Boston,  New  York,  Wash- 
ington, Philadelphia.  Lecture.  Social 
Courtesies.  Washington  Monument.  (1877— 
1878) 185 


14  CONTENTS. 

CHAPTER  PAGE 

XXXVI.  John  Lothrop  Motley.  "In  Memoriam." 
"Castle  St.  Angelo"  and  "The  Evil  Eye." 
Clytemnestra.     (1877),        ....     201 

XXXVII.  "Girolamo  detto  il  Fiorentino."    Poem,  "A 

Dream."    Salem  Ode.     Legion  of  Honor. 
(1877-1878),  206 

XXXVIII.  "Origin  of  the  Italian  Language."  Statues— 

Sardanapalus,  Lord  Byron.      (187S-1879),  210 

XXXIX.  "A  Roman  Holiday."  "A  Lay  Confessional." 

(1879-1880) 213 

XL.    "A  Jewish  Rabbi  in  Rome."    (1880),  .     218 

XLI.    "Do  You  Remember?"    Vallombrosa.     Mr. 

Browning.     (1880-1881),     .         .         .        .221 

XLII.  Statue,  Chief  Justice  Marshall.  Group, 
Centaur  and  Nymph.  Metropolitan  Mu- 
seum Fellowship.    Statue,  Orestes.    (1882),  225 

XLIII.  Marriage  of  Mr.  Story's  Older  Son  to 
Miss  Maud  Broadwood.  Statues — Reclin- 
ing Cleopatra,  Miriam.     (1883-1884),        .     228 

XLIV.    Petition  of  Roman- American  Artists.   (1885),  233 

XLV.    Statues  of  Ezra  Cornell  and  William  Cullen 

Bryant.     Key  Monument.     (1885-1886),    .     239 

XLVI.  "  Fiammetta."  Group,  Into  the  Silent  Land. 
Press  Notice  of  Mr.  Story.  American 
Citizenship.     (1886), 244 

XLVII.   Statue    of    Christ.       Poem,    "  Io    Victis!" 

(1886-1887) 248 

XLVIII.  Thetis  and  Achilles.  Festival  of  Bologna 
University.  Honors  and  Decorations. 
(1887-1888) 253 

XLIX.  Conversations  in  a  Studio.  Statue,  Nemesis. 
Medallion  of  Theodore  Parker.  Shelley's 
Bust.     (1890-1892), 257 


CONTENTS.  15 

CHAPTER  PAGE 

L.  Michael  Angelo.  Phidias  and  Elgin  Marbles. 
The  Art  of  Casting  in  Plaster.  Conversa- 
tion with  Marcus  Aurelius.  Distortions  of 
the  English  Stage,  as  in  Macbeth. 
R.    Browning.     (1891-1893),       .         .         .     262 

LI.    Golden     Wedding.      Mrs.     Story's     Death, 

January  7,  1894.     (1893-1894),    .         .        .     276 

LII.   Selections  from  "A  Poet's  Portfolio."   "Later 
Readings,"   by   William   Wetmore   Story. 

(1891), 278 

LIII.  Gwendolyn  Marion  and  Vivien  Waldo  Story. 
Mr.  and  Mrs.  Waldo  Story's  Removal  to 
Palazzo  Barberini.  Mrs.  W.  W.  Story's 
Death.  Monument  of  Mrs.  W.  W.  Story. 
(1894-1895),  285 

LIV.  Decline  of  Health.  Vallombrosa.  Letter 
Describing  Last  Days  and  Passing  Away. 
Funeral  Services.     (1895),  .        .        .     2S8 


ILLUSTRATIONS. 


I.     William  Wetmore  Story,        .        .     Frontispiece. 
From  his  latest  photograph. 

OPPOSITE   PAGE 

II.     Judge  Story's  Home  in  Salem.      The  house  in 

•which  W.   W.  Story  "was  bom,       .         .  24 

By  kindness  of  Mr.  Frank  Cousins. 

III.  Judge  Story's  Home  in  Cambridge,      .         .  34 

IV.  Palazzo  Barberini,  Rome,      ....  96 

V.     The  Theater  Room,  Palazzo  Barberini,       .  98 

By  kindness  of  Mrs.  Lew  Wallace. 

VI.     Red  Drawing  Room,  Palazzo  Barberini,      .         102 
By  kindness  of  Mrs.  Lew  Wallace. 

VII.     Judge  Story, 108 

From  "  Life  and  Letters  of  Joseph  Story." 

VIII.     W.  W.  Story  and  Tommaso  Salvini  Discussing 

Macbeth,  at  Vallombrosa,       .        .         .        274 
By  kindness  of  Mrs.  Lew  Wallace. 

IX.     Gwendolyn  Marion  and  Vivien  Waldo  Story,    2S6 


(16) 


REMINISCENCES   OF 

WILLIAM    WETMORE    STORY. 


Ancestry. 
(1743-1819.) 

On  the  12th  day  of  February,  18 19,  William 
Wetmore  Story,  the  second  son  and  sixth  child  of 
the  Hon.  Joseph  Story,  Associate  Justice  of  the 
United  States  Supreme  Court,  and  Sarah  Waldo 
Wetmore,  his  wife,  was  born  in  Salem,  Mass. 

A  few  generations  back  we  find  the  great- 
grandfather of  young  Story,  also  William  by  name, 
Register  of  the  Vice  Court  of  Admiralty  at  Bos- 
ton. His  grandfather,  Dr.  Elisha  Story,  was  born 
in  that  city  December  3,  1743,  and,  as  the  surgeon 
of  Colonel  Little's  Essex  Regiment,  took  active 
part  in  the  American  Revolution.  He  belonged 
to  "  The  Sons  of  Liberty,"  was  volunteer  guard 
on  the  "  Dartmouth,"  November  29th,  and  on 
December  16th  made  one  of  the  "Tea  Party." 
At  Lexington  and  at  Bunker  Hill  he  fought  as  a 

(17) 


i8  REMINISCENCES  OF  W.  W.  STORY. 

volunteer,  and  was  with  Washington  at  Long 
Island,  White  Plains,  and  Trenton. 

His  grandmother,  Mehitable  Pedrick,  second 
wife  of  Doctor  Story,  is  described  as  "  a  woman  of 
great  pride  and  courage,"  qualities  inherited  from 
her  father,  who  was  said  to  be  "  afraid  of  nothing 
God  Almighty  ever  put  upon  earth."  She  once 
rescued  her  young  son,  the  future  Judge  Story, 
from  a  burning  bed,  he  having  fallen  asleep  while 
reading  by  a  lighted  candle,  with  a  presence  of 
mind  that  justifies  such  an  estimate  of  her  char- 
acter. 

Doctor  Story  moved  to  Marblehead,  Mass.,  in 
1770,  and  here,  among  the  honest  fisher-folk,  great 
rocks,  and  ever-splashing  waves  of  the  ocean,  was 
born,  September  18,  1779,  Joseph  Story,  the  father 
of  the  subject  of  these  pages,  and  destined  to 
achieve,  through  many  difficulties  and  every 
obstacle,  a  peerless  and  international  reputation 
in  his  vocation  of  the  law. 

From  "  The  Life  and  Letters  of  Joseph  Story," 
now  out  of  print,  will  be  given  a  short  sketch  of 
Judge  Story's  life,  in  order  to  show  the  bearing  of 
its  conditions  and  their  influences  upon  his  own 
and  his  son's  remarkable  attainments. 

The  text  of  this  work  is,  his  life  preached  the 
gospel  of  labor.  This  was  equally  true  of  father 
and  son. 

As  a  boy  at  Marblehead,  breathing  in  the  pure 


ANCESTRY.  19 

and    invigorating    salt    sea    air,    Joseph     Story 
absorbed  something  enduring,  both  for  mind  and 
body,  from  the  very  cliffs  and  stones  of  his  rugged 
birthplace;  and  thereby  started  out  in  life  with  a 
mental    and    physical   constitution   of    iron.     At 
times,   however,   he   overtaxed  his  strength    by 
study,  beginning  with  his  preparation  for   Har- 
vard  University  under  incompetent  instruction, 
perceiving  which  fact  he  faced  the  necessity  of 
renewed  and  redoubled   exertions   for  entering, 
within  a  given  time,  the  class  of  1795.    This  lad  of 
sixteen  years  literally  burnt  the  midnight  oil,  fre- 
quently indeed,  continuing  till  the  dawn  of  day  in 
the  pursuance  of  learning,  then  perhaps  seeking 
refreshment  for  his  worn-out  brain  in  a  head  bath 
under  the  college  pump,  instead  of  rest  and  sleep. 
Such  a  strain  upon  his  nervous  system  naturally 
ended  in  an  illness  which  left  in  its  train  the  mal- 
ady of  indigestion;  but  from  this  the  brave  boy 
recovered,  and  reaped  the  reward  of  his  labors  by 
graduating  with  the  highest  honors  in  his  class  of 
1798.     On  his  college  life  he  always  looked  back 
with  the  greatest  pleasure  and  affection. 

During  this  year  of  1798  he  entered  the  law 
office  of  Samuel  Sewell,  at  Marblehead.  After 
the  pleasant  variety  of  college  associations  and 
pursuits,  this  circumscribed  place  was  at  first 
exceedingly  irksome;  so  too  was  the  study  of  the 
law,  but  bending  his  best  energies  upon  it  he  soon 


20  REMINISCENCES  OF  W.  W.  STORY. 

grew  interested  and  finally  absorbed  in  his  future 
profession,  though  he  never  became  attached  to 
the  locality,  and  therefore  in  1801  went  to  Salem, 
where  he  continued  his  studies  under  Samuel 
Putnam.  He  was  in  this  same  year  admitted  to 
the  bar  and  began  his  practice  as  an  attorney-at- 
law  in  Salem. 

Notwithstanding  his  youth,  a  charming  person- 
ality and  sterling  character  overcame  the  many 
prejudices  which  usually  lie  in  the  way  of  prog- 
ress for  strong  minds  of  high  purposes;  and  in 
spite  of  his  adherence  to  the  unpopular  political 
party  of  his  day,  he  was  chosen  a  member  of  the 
Legislature  of  Massachusetts  in  1805  and  served 
therein  three  terms.  It  was  also  in  1805  that  he 
married  his  first  wife,  of  whom  he  was  bereaved 
before  the  close  of  that  year. 

The  year  1808  was  marked  for  the  young  man 
by  two  important  events  —  becoming  a  member 
of  Congress,  and,  in  the  month  of  August,  marry- 
ing his  second  wife,  Sarah  Waldo  Wetmore, 
daughter  of  Judge  Wetmore  of  Boston,  and 
mother  of  William  Wetmore  Story.  Her  superior 
wifehood  and  motherhood  suggested  the  beautiful 
tribute  of  affection  from  her  son  in  the  dedication 
to  her  of  "  The  Life  and  Letters  "  of  his  father. 

In  181 1  Joseph  Story  became  the  speaker  of 
the  Massachusetts  House  of  Representatives,  and 
in  November  of  that  year,  at  the  age  of  thirty-two, 


ANCESTRY.  21 

he  was  appointed  judge  of  the  Supreme  Court  of 
the  United  States.  He  held  this  office  for  thirty- 
three  years,  up  to  the  date  of  his  death,  September 
10,  1845. 

In  1829  an  endowment  of  $10,000  was  made  by 
Mr.  Dane  for  the  purpose  of  founding  a  school  of 
law  in  Harvard  University,  upon  the  condition 
that  Judge  Story  would  accept  the  professor's 
chair,  and  also  write  and  publish  a  certain  number 
of  treatises  upon  the  different  branches  of  juris- 
prudence. In  order  to  accept  this  trust,  Judge 
Story  left  Salem  and  went  to  live  in  Cambridge, 
where  he  fulfilled  with  true  delight  the  obligations 
involved  both  in  his  work  as  instructor  and  in  the 
writing  and  publishing  of  the  required  and  other 
legal  works.  Mr.  Dane,  when  asked  if  he  thought 
it  possible  that  Judge  Story  would  fill  up  that 
extensive  outline  prescribed  by  the  conditions  of 
the  endowment,  replied:  "  Yes  sir,  I  know  the  man; 
he  will  do  this  and  more,  for,  uncommon  as  are 
his  talents,  his  industry  is  still  more  extraordinary." 

A  letter  from  the  Hon.  Josiah  Quincy  says: 
"  Knowledge  radiated  from  him  into  the  minds 
of  all  around.  The  spirit  in  which  he  taught  was 
beautiful.  He  taught  as  well  by  his  character  as 
by  his  words." 

When  a  great  and  good  man  passes  away,  all 
nature  mourns.  "  Part  of  the  sunlight  of  the  town 
will   pass  away  with   him,"    one   of  his  humble 


22  REMINISCENCES  OF  W.  W.  STORY. 

townsmen  said.  "At  nine  o'clock  in  the  evening 
of  September  10,  1845,  ne  breathed  his  last.  The 
name  of  God  was  the  last  word  that  was  ever 
heard  from  his  lips.  Gradually  he  lost  conscious- 
ness, and  without  pain  fell  into  the  arms  of  the 
good  angel.  He  died  full  of  honors  and  years.  He 
was  at  peace,  going  onward  and  upward  still  in 
the  fuller  glory  and  clearer  light  of  a  higher 
existence." 

Reared  in  the  atmosphere  of  an  intimate 
association  with  such  characters  as  Chief  Justice 
Marshall,  Chancellor  Kent,  Simon  Greenleaf, 
Daniel  Webster,  Jeremiah  Mason,  Dana,  Edward 
Everett,  Washington  Allston,  and  many  others  of 
equal  renown  and  brilliant  achievement,  it  is  not 
difficult  to  understand  how  one  so  highly  and 
diversely  gifted  as  William  Wetmore  Story  should 
attain  to  his  accredited  height  in  the  world  of 
literature  and  art. 


II. 

Birth  and  Early  Years  of  W.  W.  Story  at 
Salem.  Salem  Home  and  Associations. 
LaFayette.     Poem,  "Childhood." 

(1819-1829.) 

While  for  many  reasons  it  is  not  easy  to 
enlarge  upon  the  child-life  of  a  person  who  dies  at 
the  ripe  age  of  seventy-six,  it  is  still  possible  to 
gain  some  conception  of  his  tender  years  from  the 
circumstances  by  which  he  was  surrounded  and 
the  conditions  under  which  he  lived. 

Judge  Story  and  his  wife  had  mourned  the  loss 
of  four  children,  when  a  daughter,  Mary  Oliver 
Story,  came  to  them  March  10,  18 17.  About  two 
years  later  their  son  William  Wetmore  was  born. 
In  a  letter  to  Mr.  Frank  Cousins  from  Mr.  Story, 
published  in  the  Salem  Gazette,  October  9,  1895, 
from  which  a  clipping  is  furnished  by  courtesy  of 
Mr.  Cousins,  is  this  extract  concerning  the  sculp- 
tor's birth.  "As  to  the  question  you  ask  me  in 
regard  to  the  date  of  my  birth,  I  have  no  personal 
recollection  of  it,  but  I  have  always  been  told  that 
it  was  on  the  12th  of  February,  18 19.     My  mother 

(23) 


24  REMINISCENCES  OF  W.  W.  STORY. 

and  father  had  that  belief."  Two  years  later,  in 
May,  182 1,  came  another  little  daughter,  Louisa. 
Many  instances  throughout  his  life  and  writings 
go  to  prove  how  William  Story  loved  his  parents 
and  sisters,  in  whose  devoted  companionship  the 
ten  years  of  his  Salem  life  were  spent. 

The  house  built  by  his  father  in  181 2,  in  which 
the  artist  was  born,  still  stands  within  its  beauti- 
ful high-walled  gardens  bordering  upon  historic 
Washington  Square.  It  is  a  large  red-brick  man- 
sion, most  fitting  for  the  reception  and  entertain- 
ment given  in  it  by  Judge  Story  to  General 
LaFayette,  August  21,  1824.  A  cut  of  this  house 
is  given,  and  of  it  Mr.  Story's  letter  to  Mr. 
Cousins  says: 

"My  Dear  Sir:  I  beg  you  to  accept  my  best 
thanks  for  the  three  photographs  which  you  have 
had  the  kindness  to  send  me  and  which  interest 
me  very  much.  The  house  where  I  was  born  is 
somewhat  changed  since  I  saw  it  last,  and  since  I 
played  there  in  my  early  youth,  but  chiefly  in  the 
addition  of  a  front  over  the  central  door;  other- 
wise it  seems  to  me  very  little  changed  from  what 
it  was  in  the  old  days." 

Mr.  Henry  M.  Brooks,  secretary  of  Essex  Insti- 
tute, Salem,  writes  of  Mr.  Story  thus: 

"  He  retained  so  much  interest  in  Salem  as  to 
send  us  a  very  short  time  before  his  death,  for 


Judge  Story's  Home  in  Salem. 


BIRTH  AND  EARLY  YEARS.  25 

perpetual  deposit,  the  elegant  mahogany  cradle  in 
which  he  and  his  father,  Judge  Story,  were  rocked 
in  infancy.  It  is  a  conspicuous  feature  in  our  col- 
lections. The  very  interesting  correspondence  on 
the  occasion  is  on  our  files  and  can  be  seen  if 
desired." 

As  a  background  to  this  family  and  home  pic- 
ture we  may  well  quote  a  few  extracts  from 
M.  C.  D.  Silsbee's  attractive  little  volume  entitled 
"A  Half  Century  in  Salem,"  which  tells  of — 

"The  good  old  times!  times  of  respectability, 
of  comfort,  honest  toil  and  elegant  leisure,  of 
steady  thrift,  of  modest  charities;  a  day  was  a  day 
then,  beginning  at  six  o'clock  in  summer  and  half- 
past  seven  in  winter,  and  usually  ending  at  ten. 

"  The  old  homes!  how  many  hallowed  memories 
cluster  around  the  words  !  A  home  was  a  home 
then,  a  place  to  be  born  in,  to  live  in,  and  to 
die  in     .     .     . 

"  All  through  the  long  severe  winter  we  were 
cold,  as  a  matter  of  course,  excepting  the  side 
next  to  the  glowing  wood  fire,  and  that  was 
scorched;  the  entries  and  sleeping  rooms  were 
probably  at  freezing  point,  ice  in  the  water- 
pitchers,  unmelting  frost  on  the  windows.  But 
roaring  fires  were  built  up  in  the  spacious  cavities 
with  back-log  and  chips  for  kindling,  with  big 
bellows  to  blow  the  flame,  and  who  cared  for  the 
cold? 


26  REMINISCENCES  OF  W.  W.  STORY. 

"We  kept  'helps'  then;  sometimes  they  were 
hindrances.  Still,  Yankee  help  was  an  admirable 
institution.  In  winter  the  breakfast  was  at  eight 
o'clock;  there  were  no  nerves  then;  coffee  was  a 
licensed  drink,  dyspepsia  was  an  unacknowledged 
sin. 

"  At  one  o'clock  dinner  was  served  in  reverse 
order  —  first  the  pudding,  then  the  meat.  At  six 
the  pleasant  tea  or  supper  was  spread. 

"  Ministers  now  and  then  preached  about  the 
trials  of  life,  and  pessimists  groaned  about  '  a 
vale';  we  were  firm  in  the  conviction  that  we 
should  always  emerge  in  triumph  from  the  one 
and  tread  on  flowers  as  we  journeyed  through  the 
other. 

"  Happy  were  the  little  feet  that  walked  in 
Salem,  free  to  wander  up  and  down  the  shady 
streets,  out  in  the  green  lanes,  and  through  the 
trim  gardens. 

"  Social  intercourse  was  delightful,  as  there 
were  readers,  thinkers,  and  plenty  of  good  talkers. 
Manners  were  certainly  awe-inspiring  in  1825. 

"  Invitations  were  not  written,  but  sent  by 
domestics  or  the  children  of  the  family.  An 
evening  party  was  from  thirty  to  fifty  guests;  they 
began  to  arrive  at  seven  and  to  go  at  ten." 

Speaking  of  "  well-known  gentlemen, "  the 
author  continues: 

"  Among  these  honored  names  those  of  Judge 


BIRTH  AND  EARLY  YEARS.  27 

Story  and  Hon.  Nathaniel  Silsbee  are  entitled  to 
special  mention  for  the  high  position  attained  in 
public  life.  Judge  Story  left  Salem  before  his 
great  powers  had  reached  their  zenith,  and  his 
departure  was  regretted  by  his  adopted  city,  which 
borrowed  him  from  Marblehead  and  lent  him  to 
Cambridge. 

"  The  children  of  1824  saw  LaFayette  in  the 
pouring  rain,  but  still  they  could  peep  at  him 
through  the  drops  and  be  thankful.  Arches 
wreathed  with  flowers,  covered  with  inscriptions 
impossible  to  be  read,  and  the  star-spangled  banner 
soaked  into  sullen  silence,  spanned  the  streets 
leading  to  the  Common,  where  a  thousand  school 
children  were  formed  into  two  lines,  making  the 
air  ring  with  shouts  of  'Welcome,  LaFayette!' 
Then  the  procession  passed  to  the  coffee-house, 
where  Judge  Story  met  the  general  with  beauti- 
fully appropriate  salutations,  to  which  he  made  a 
cordial  reply." 

Perhaps  no  better  idea  of  young  Story's  delight 
in  these  years  can  be  given  than  he  himself  ex- 
presses at  the  age  of  twenty-one  in  some  lines 
upon 

CHILDHOOD. 

Along  my  wall  in  golden  splendor  stream 

The  morning  rays, 
As  when  they  woke  me  from  the  happy  dream 

Of  childish  davs. 


28  REMINISCENCES  OF  W.  W.  STORY. 

Then  every  morning  brought  a  sweet  surprise, 

When  I  was  young; 
Even  as  a  lark  that  carols  to  the  skies 

My  spirit  sung. 

To  count  the  yellow  bars  of  light  that  fell 

Through  the  closed  blind 
Was  joy  enough.     O,  strange  and  magic  spell! 

A  guileless  mind. 

Dear  were  those  thoughtless  hours,  whose  sunny  change 

Had  gleams  of  heaven! 
But  dearer,  Duty's  ever-widening  range 

Which  thought  has  given. 

With  these  lines  he  bade  adieu  to  old  Salem, 
the  "city  of  peace."  Through  her  shaded  streets 
and  broad  Common  those  great  spirits  of  a 
mighty  past  still  linger  in  name  and  influence. 
Among  them  all  none  will  chime  with  more 
enduring  charm  and  harmony  upon  the  ear  of 
Father  Time  than  those  of  Hawthorne,  Choate, 
and  Story. 


III. 


"Fireside  Travels,"  by  James  Russell  Lowell. 
Boyhood  in  Cambridge.  Washington  All- 
ston. 

(1829-1834.) 

"Fireside  Travels"  was  published  in  1864,  and 
many  of  the  numbers  were  ten  years  afterward 
printed  in  magazines.  The  author  has  inscribed 
these  travels  thus: 

To  W.  W.  S. 

Who  carves  his  thoughts  in  marble  will  not  scorn 
These  pictured  bubbles;  if  so  far  they  fly 

They  will  recall  days  ruddy  but  with  morn, 
Not  like  these  lately  past  or  drawing  nigh! 

They  begin  with  "  Cambridge,  Thirty  Years 
Ago,"  in  a  memoir  addressed  to  "The  Edelmann 
Storg  in  Rome." 

It  requires  no  shrewd  guessing  to  name  W.  W. 
Story  as  "  The  Edelmann  Storg,"  and  the  recipi- 
ent of  this  courtesy  from  his  lifelong  friend,  James 
Russell  Lowell,  even  if  Frances  Underwood  had 
not  called  Mr.  Lowell's  "  Fireside  Travels  "  "  the 

(29) 


3©  REMINISCENCES  OF  W.  W.  STORY. 

most  charming  and  characteristic  of  his  vol- 
umes," and  referred  to  them  as  "  a  series  of  letters 
addressed  to  Story,  the  sculptor,"  Thus  it  is  that 
"  Cambridge  Thirty  Years  Ago "  abounds  in  so 
many  and  interesting  touches  of  that  time  that  it 
becomes  a  most  fitting  background  for  the  child- 
hood, boyhood,  and  manhood  of  these  two  bril- 
liant men.  It  commences  with  this  picture  of  ease 
and  comfort: 

"  In  those  quiet  old  winter  evenings,  around  our 
Roman  fireside,  it  was  not  seldom,  my  dear  Storg, 
that  we  talked  of  the  advantages  of  travel,  and 
in  speeches  not  so  long  that  our  cigars  would  for- 
get their  fire  (the  just  measure  of  conversation) 
debated  the  comparative  advantages  of  the  Old 
and  New  Worlds  ....  After  all,  my  dear 
Storg,  it  is  to  know  tilings  that  one  has  to  travel, 
and  not  men. 

"  Now,  you  know  how  I  stand  by  the  old 
thought,  the  old  thing,  the  old  place,  and  the 
old  friend  till  I  am  very  sure  I  have  got  a  better, 
and  even  then  I  migrate  painfully. 

"We  had  the  fortune  to  journey  together 
through  the  green,  secluded  valley  of  boyhood; 
together  we  climbed  the  mountain  wall  which 
shut  in  and  looked  down  upon  those  Italian  plains 
of  early  manhood;  and  since  then  we  have  met 
sometimes  by  a  well,  or  broken  bread  together  at 
an  oasis  in  the  arid  desert  of  life,  as  it  truly  is. 


BOYHOOD  IN  CAMBRIDGE.  31 

"With  this  letter  I  propose  to  make  you  my 
fellow  traveler  in  one  of  these  fireside  voyages 
which,  as  we  grow  older,  we  make  oftener  and 
oftener  through  our  past.  Without  leaving  your 
elbow-chair,  you  shall  go  back  with  me  thirty 
years.  .  .  .  Let  us  look  at  Cambridge  of  thirty 
years  since. 

"  Boston  was  not  yet  a  city,  and  Cambridge  was 
still  a  country  village,  with  its  own  habits  and  tra- 
ditions. 

"  We  called  it  '  the  village '  then.  A  few 
houses  stood  around  the  bare  Common  with 
ample  elbow  room,  and  old  women,  capped  and 
spectacled,  still  peered  through  the  same  windows 
from  which  they  watched  Lord  Percy's  artillery 
rumble  by  to  Lexington,  or  caught  a  glimpse  of 
the  handsome  Virginia  general  who  had  come  to 
wield  our  home-spun  Saxon  chivalry.  One  coach 
sufficed  for  all  travel  to  the  metropolis.  Com- 
mencement had  not  ceased  to  be  the  great  holi- 
day of  the  Puritan  Commonwealth  —  the  festival 
of  Santa  Scholastica,  whose  triumphal  path  one 
may  conceive  strewn  with  leaves  of  spelling- 
books  instead  of  bay.  The  students  (scholars 
they  were  called  then)  wore  their  sober  uniform. 

"  But  even  Cambridgeport,  my  dear  Storg,  did 
not  want  associations  poetic  and  venerable.  The 
stranger  who  took  the  'Hourly'  at  old  Cambridge 
might  have  had  his  curiosity  excited  by  a  person 


32  REMINISCENCES  OP  W.  W.  STORY. 

who  mounted  the  coach  at  the  Port.  So  refined 
was  his  whole  appearance,  so  fastidiously  neat  his 
apparel,  that  you  would  have  at  once  classed  him 
with  those  individuals  whom  Nature  sends  into 
the  world  to  fill  the  arduous  office  of  gentleman. 
A  nimbus  of  hair,  fine  as  an  infant's  and  early 
white,  undulated  and  floated  around  a  face  that 
seemed  like  pale  flame.  It  was  a  countenance 
that,  without  any  beauty  of  feature,  was  very 
beautiful.  You  would  have  detected  in  the  eyes 
that  artist  look  which  seems  to  see  pictures  ever 
in  the  air.  You  ask  his  name,  and  the  answer  is 
•Mr.  Allston.*" 

Mr.  Story  as  a  boy  used  to  take  the  "  Hourly  " 
into  Boston  for  his  music  lessons.  He  tells  of  one 
bright  cold  morning  when,  entering  the  stage,  Mr. 
Allston's  hand  was  placed  kindly  on  his  young 
head,  and  how  his  heart  bounded  when  from  the 
artist's  lips  fell  these  beautiful  words  of  encour- 
agement: "  You  will  make  a  name  for  yourself 
some  of  these  days;  it  is  not  difficult;  it  will  be 
easy  for  you."  Mr.  Story  adds:  "  And  in  the  dark 
days  that  came  afterwards  the  memory  of  this 
incident  seemed  almost  a  prophecy  and  an  inspira- 
tion to  me." 

In  Mr.  Story's  communication  with  Miss  Starr 
upon  the  subject  of  her  "  Lectures  "  he  says:  "I 
am  delighted  to  hear  that  you  are  intending  to 
give  an  essay  on  Mr.  Allston.     He  was  a  most 


BOYHOOD  IN  CAMBRIDGE.  33 

finished  gentleman  and  an  ideal  artist.  I  used 
to  see  him  when  I  was  a  boy  at  Cambridge, 
and  always  had  the  highest,  admiration  for  him, 
gazing  at  him  with  wonder,  delighted  whenever 
he  came  across  my  path,  and  now  and  then  being 
admitted  to  his  studio  where  he  delighted  me  with 
his  charming  conversation  and  his  reminiscences 
of  poets  and  artists  whom  he  had  known.  He 
inflamed  my  spirit  with  many  a  noble  utterance. 
He  looked  upon  art  from  the  highest  possible 
point  of  view.  There  was  nothing  in  his  spirit  or 
ambition  but  what  was  lofty. 

"A  sketch  on  canvas  by  him,  given  me  by 
Mrs.  Franklin  Dexter  of  Boston,  hangs  over  my 
bed,  so  that  I  see  it  every  morning  —  a  most 
interesting  work." 


IV. 


Judge  Story's  Home  in  Cambridge.  Death  of 
Mr.  Story's  Sister  Louisa.  Colonel  Hig- 
ginson's  Letter.  Cambridge  School  Days. 
Social  Life. 

(1829-1834.) 

Going-  back  from  Mr.  Lowell's  description  of 
"Cambridge  in  1834"  to  the  year  1829,  we  see 
that  the  old  town  in  those  times  could  not  have 
materially  changed  during  the  period  of  five 
years.  While  she  had  not  yet  been  awakened  by 
the  shrill  whistle  of  steam  nor  the  whirr  and  whirl 
of  electricity,  she  was  answering  the  call  of  intel- 
lectual progress  in  many  directions,  one  of  these 
being  the  founding  of  the  Law  School  by  Mr. 
Dane,  which  brought  Judge  Story  from  Salem, 
with  his  family,  to  live  in  Cambridge  and  father 
this  endowment  with  his  care  and  direction. 

At  this  time  the  family  consisted  of  himself,  his 
wife,  and  their  three  children:  Mary,  aged  twelve; 
William,  aged  ten,  and  Louisa,  eight.  Coming 
from   the   simple,   homely,  and  refined  environ- 

(34) 


Judge  Story's  Home  in  Cambridge. 


JUDGE  STORY'S  HOME  IN  CAMBRIDGE.        35 

ments,  so  quaintly  pictured  by  the  pen  of  the 
author  of  "  Old  Salem,"  and,  as  common  report 
then  bespake  them,  healthy,  happy,  and  bright  — 
it  is  to  be  presumed  that  these  little  folks  greatly 
enjoyed  "  the  good  old  times,  times  of  respectabil- 
ity and  comfort,"  and  did  so  in  the  children's 
ways  described  in  "A  Half  Century  in  Salem." 
All  things  point  to  the  fact  that  they  enjoyed 
their  new  home  quite  as  much. 

"Cambridge  Thirty  Years  Ago,"  from  the  poet's 
pen,  unfolds  the  general  view  of  such  scenes  and 
incidents  as  to  make  it  a  fitting  and  charming 
background  for  the  old  Story  homestead,  which 
still  stands  upon  the  corner  of  Brattle  and  Hil- 
liard  streets.  Time's  tyranny  has  torn  away  that 
interesting  study-studio  shared  by  father  and  son, 
and  the  old  brick  mansion  which  backs  upon 
Hilliard  Street  is  shorn  of  Judge  Story's  social 
portico,  while  one  impertinently  new  is  striving 
to  take  its  place.  The  entrance,  arched  and 
quaint,  with  its  old-fashioned  door,  remains,  and 
no  doubt  misses  its  neighbor,  the  study-studio  of 
the  L.  They  both  looked  out  upon  the  great 
yard  and  tall  trees,  that  would  talk  if  they  could 
of  those  fine  old  yesterdays,  and  the  men  and 
women  who  made  them  so  fine. 

Within,  the  slender-columned  wooden  mantel- 
pieces spoke  of  "  ye  grande  olde  tymes  and  folke," 
and  the  cheering  blaze  of  back-log  fires  that  Mr. 


36  REMINISCENCES  OF  W.  W.  STORY. 

Story  evidently  had  not  forgotten,  for  in  1868  he 

writes: 

How  the  wood  blazes!     Fill  my  glass! 
This  Lacryma  Christi  goes  to  the  heart 
And  makes  the  olden  memories  start 
Like  an  April  rain  on  last  year's  grass. 
Fitful,  whimsical,  glad  and  free, 
Like  a  living  thing  with  a  heart  and  soul — 
Oh,  the  wood  fire  is  the  fire  for  me! 

It  is  in  his  works  that  a  man  is  to  be  measured; 
and  in  this  volume,  in  so  far  as  it  is  possible  to  do 
so,  Mr.  Story's  life  will  be  presented  through  his 
works;  as  he  lived  and  expressed  himself  in  them 
no  more  fitting  picture  of  him  could  be  given. 

In  1 83 1  Judge  Story  lost  his  youngest  child,  his 
little  daughter  Louisa,  of  whom  he  wrote  some 
tender,  loving  lines  to  be  found  in  his  "Life  and 
Letters,"  edited  by  his  son. 

Many  years  afterward  Mr.  Story  writes  of  his 
sister  Mary  thus: 

"  She  was  half  my  life  to  me.  She  entered  into 
all  my  hopes,  cheered  me  in  all  my  ambitions, 
gave  me  always  the  wisest  and  tenderest  sym- 
pathy and  counsel.  She  was  what  only  a  sister 
can  be,  and  if  there  be  anything  good  in  me  I  owe 
it  to  her."  He  speaks  of  spending  an  autumn  day 
in  the  woods  at  Beverly  with  her,  both  enjoying 
their  youth,  and  trust,  and  nature.  In  "A  Poet's 
Portfolio  "  is  a  poem  he  wrote  of  her,  from  which 
are  the  following  lines  : 


JUDGE  STORY'S  HOME  IN  CAMBRIDGE.        37 

Our  hearts  kept  fluttering  round 

One  sweet,  delicious  theme, 
And  the  happy  childish  days  go  by 

Like  music  in  a  dream. 

All  things  go  to  show  that  they  were  happy, 
well-cared-for  children.  That  the  young  William 
had  rabbits  for  pets  is  shown  through  a  letter  of 
Col.  T.  W.  Higginson  of  Cambridge,  from  whose 
generous  contributions  to  Mr.  Story's  memory 
much  will  be  quoted  in  this  volume.  The  letter, 
in  part,  is  as  follows: 

"  Cambridge,  Mass.,  May  8,  1S96. 
"  Dear  Madam:  I  am  glad  to  write  to  you  about 
William  Story,  whom  I  knew  in  boyhood  in  the 
admiring  way  in  which  a  younger  boy  knows  an 
older  one,  he  being  nearly  five  years  my  senior  in 
years  and  three  years  my  senior  in  college.  His 
father  removed  to  Cambridge  in  1829,  when  I  was 
six  years  old,  and  I  do  not  remember  seeing  him 
till  about  1832,  when  I  began  to  go  to  the  same 
school  with  him.  But  before  that  I  remember 
considering  it  an  honor  to  be  allowed  to  go  to 
his  garden  and  see  his  rabbits;  and  he  was,  even 
then,  regarded  as  a  sort  of  Steerforth  (in  Dickens' 
David  Copperfield)  among  the  Cambridge  boys. 
He  was  very  handsome  and  gentlemanly,  always 
ready  and  courteous,  bright,  already  accomplished, 
and,  in  short,  a  natural  leader,  at  least  in  regard  to 
personal  popularity. 


38  REMINISCENCES  OF  W.  W.  STORY. 

"The  school  we  went  to  was  that  of  William 
Wells,  a  fine  old  Englishman,  whose  teaching- 
was  then  thought  the  best  near  Boston.  It  was 
nearly  a  mile  from  our  house,  and  we  walked 
there  and  back  twice  a  day.  My  older  brother 
was  of  Story's  age,  and  I  often  trudged  along 
beside  the  older  boys.  William  Story  was  the 
wit  of  the  school,  and  also  already  a  favorite  with 
girls,  so  a  good  deal  of  their  talk  went  above 
my  head;  but  I  remember  their  talking  over  the 
'  Fairie  Queen,'  which  they  had  been  reading, 
and  remember  well  that  a  shady  nook  near  our 
bathing  place  up  the  river  was  christened  the 
'  Bower  of  Brisbe,'  after  Spenser. 

"  Lowell  and  Story  went  to  college  soon,  leav- 
ing me  at  school;  but  they  were  stars  in  my  boy- 
ish zenith  still,  and  were  the  same  in  Cambridge 
society  when  I  began  to  go  into  it.  They  were 
intimate  friends,  but  Story  was  the  leader  and 
the  more  admired.  He  was  very  musical,  which 
Lowell  was  not.  He  dabbled  in  painting  too  (not 
yet  sculpture),  and  was  a  capital  mimic  and  actor 
in  private  theatricals.  I  dare  say  he  was  a  good 
deal  spoiled;  I  know  the  older  people  then  called 
him  conceited  and  irreverent.  In  his  youth  he 
was  sometimes  led  by  these  overflowing  spirits 
(which  he  shared  with  Lowell)  into  doing  fan- 
tastic things;  thus  I  remember  his  going  to  early 
morning  prayers   once  wearing  a   camlet  cloak 


JUDGE  STORY'S  HOME  IN  CAMBRIDGE.        39 

torn  up  behind,  in  the  middle,  to  the  very  collar, 
making  it  into  two  detached  flaps. 

"After  leaving  college  he  was  one  of  a  brilliant 
set  of  young  people  who  called  themselves  the 
'  Brothers  and  Sisters  ' — William  and  Mary  Story, 
Nathan  and  Sarah  Hale,  William  and  Maria 
White,  John  and  Augusta  King  (of  Salem),  Jonas 
and  Lucy  Baxter  (cousins  of  the  Whites),  and 
several  others,  especially  James  Lowell,  who,  with 
Maria  White  (afterward  his  wife),  were  called 
'  King  and  Queen,'  and  took  the  lead  in  every- 
thing. They  constantly  had  meetings  at  each 
other's  houses,  picnics,  etc.;  they  idealized  their 
'  King  and  Queen  '  a  good  deal,  and  regarded  them 
as  a  sort  of  Dante  and  Beatrice.  Emelyn  Eld- 
redge  of  Boston,  whom  he  finally  married,  was  an 
occasional  member  of  the  '  Brothers  and  Sisters.' 

"  Lowell  used  to  laugh  at  Story  as  wishing  to 
be  an  'Admirable  Crichton,'  and  indeed  he  came 
very  near  it. 

"  I  did  not  mention  that  Mary  Story  (after- 
ward Mrs.  George  Ticknor  Curtis)  went  to  Mr. 
Wells'  school  also,  but  not  very  regularly.  It  was 
a  thing  then  unexampled;  and  she  had  a  desk 
quite  away  from  the  boys,  under  the  immediate 
lee  of  Mr.  Wells.  She  never  walked  up  or  down 
with  her  brother,  and  was  driven  to  school,  I  sup- 
pose. The  school  was  a  boarding-school,  with 
only  a  few  day  scholars.     It  was  almost  wholly 


40  REMINISCENCES  OF  W.  W.  STORY. 

classical,  and  the  master  never  laid  aside  his  rat- 
tan; but  the  day  scholars  enjoyed  it,  though  I 
think  the  boarders  did  not. 

"Judge  Story  had  then  an  international  repu- 
tation, and  this,  with  his  kindness  and  bonhomie^ 
made  him  the  leading  citizen  of  Cambridge. 
.  .  .  .  William  took  a  wholly  different  line, 
and  people  predicted  that  he  was  too  frivolous  to 
make  a  lawyer,  but  he  wrote  one  or  two  success- 
ful law  books  before  he  left  the  profession. 

"  I  do  not  think  of  anyone  beside  myself  who 
would  be  likely  to  write  you  about  his  ante-colle- 
giate life,  but  you  could  easily  learn  about  his  col- 
lege life  by  writing  to  his  classmates.     .     .     . 
"  Very  truly  yours, 

"  T.  W.  Higginson." 


V. 


Second  Centennial  Harvard  College  Festi- 
val. Letters  from  Judge  Story  and  J.  T. 
Coolidge.  Home  Life.  Miss  Martineau. 
Charles  Sumner.  Letters  from  S.  L. 
Abbott,  Judge  Story,  and  R.  H.  Dana. 

(1834-1836.) 

A  letter  from  Judge  Story  to  Chancellor  Kent, 
dated  May  17,  1834,  speaks  of  the  severe  illness 
of  his  only  son  —  absorbing  all  his  thoughts  — 
as  an  excuse  for  not  responding  to  a  courtesy 
extended  through  that  gentleman.  This  son, 
William  Story,  was  at  this  time  fifteen  years 
of  age. 

At  the  age  of  seventeen  young  Story  wit- 
nessed the  second  centennial  celebration  of  the 
founding  of  Harvard  College,  which,  in  the 
way  of  festivity,  must  have  been  a  triumph  of 
its  time,  and  with  which  he  was  no  doubt 
greatly  impressed.  He  gives,  in  the  "  Life  and 
Letters  of  Joseph  Story  "  the  following  descrip- 
tion of  it: 

"On  the  8th  of  September,  1836,  the  alumni  of 

(41) 


42  REMINISCENCE'S  OF  W.  W.  STORY. 

Harvard  University  celebrated  the  second  centen- 
nial anniversary  of  its  foundation.  The  occasion 
drew  together  a  great  number  of  graduates  from 
all  parts  of  the  country,  who,  after  listening  to  an 
admirable  oration  pronounced  by  the  Hon.  Josiah 
Ouincy,  president  of  the  university,  proceeded  to 
an  enormous  pavilion  erected  in  the  college 
grounds,  and  there  partook  of  a  dinner.  This 
pavilion,  which  covered  an  area  of  18,000  square 
feet,  nearly,  was  spread  with  white  canvas  that 
sloped  in  successive  terraces  from  a  central  pillar 
sixty-five  feet  in  height,  from  which  the  college 
flag  waved  with  its  motto  of  '  Veritas'  The  scaf- 
folding of  these  terraces  was  supported  in  the  in- 
terior by  forty- four  pillars,  which  were  wreathed 
with  flowers  and  evergreens,  while  pendants  and 
streamers  radiated  from  the  center  to  the  sides  of 
the  tent.  The  pavilion  was  placed  on  a  slope,  so 
that  the  tables  rose  one  above  another  in  the 
form  of  an  amphitheater,  while  an  elevated  plat- 
form on  the  lowest  part  of  the  area  was  appropri- 
ated to  the  president  and  vice-president  of  the 
day  and  the  distinguished  guests.  More  than 
1,500  persons  sat  down  at  this  table,  of  all  ages, 
from  the  octogenarian  graduate  of  sixty  years 
before  to  the  youth  of  yesterday,  and  after  the 
serious  demands  of  the  appetite  were  satisfied  a 
number  of  eloquent  speeches  were  made  which 
were  received  with  enthusiasm." 


SECOND   CENTENNIAL  AT   HARVARD.        43 

The  overflowing  spirits  with  which  Mr.  Story- 
has  been  generally  credited  during  his  college 
days  render  it  easy  to  understand  what  enjoy- 
ment such  an  occasion  as  this  would  afford  him, 
especially  in  the  companionship  of  the  future 
author  of  "  Fireside  Travels." 

The  following  letter  from  Judge  Story  to  his 

son  is  dated 

"Washington,  Feb.  21,  1836. 

"My  Dear  Son:  Since  I  have  been  here  I 
have  continued  (by  reading  a  half  hour  in  the 
night  and  a  half  hour  in  the  morning)  to  peruse 
the  whole  of  Irving's  '  Life  of  Columbus '  in  three 
volumes.  It  is  quite  an  interesting  book,  though 
I  think  too  much  spread  out  by  repetition  of  the 
same  thoughts  and  descriptions.  It  is  in  all 
respects,  however,  reputable  to  the  literature  of 
our  country.  But  it  proves,  and  sadly  proves 
(what  I  have  ever  believed),  that  the  Europeans 
were  always  aggressors  of  the  natives  of  America. 
The  white  man  will  tell  the  story  in  his  own 
way     .     .     . 

"  Your  account  of  the  new  bank  bills  I  give  you 
credit  for.  The  pun  was  good  and  1  had  a  hearty 
laugh  at  it.  It  is  the  first  time  that  I  ever 
happened  to  pass  current  in  the  money  market, 
and  there  is  not  now  the  slightest  danger  but  I 
shall  pass  for  more  than  I  am  worth,  though  I 
shall    be    in    such    good    company    as    President 


44  REMINISCENCES  OF  W.  W.  STORY. 

Quincy.     .     .     .     Give  my  love  to  your  mother 
and  Mary  and  believe  me, 

"  Very  affectionately  yours, 

"Joseph  Story." 

"The  new  bank  bills  alluded  to  in  this  letter 
were  issued  by  the  Charles  River  Bank  of  Cam- 
bridge ;  on  one  side  of  them  was  an  engraved 
head  of  my  father,  and  on  the  other  a  head  of 
President  Quincy."     (From  "Life  and  Letters.") 

A  letter  from  Mr.  Story's  classmate,  J.  T. 
Coolidge,  says  of  him  : 

"During  his  college  life  he  was  enjoying  his 
friends,  but  not  associating  freely  with  his  class ; 
yet  whenever  we  met  with  him  we  found  him 
always  courteous  and  kind.  Perhaps  it  was  be- 
cause he  lived  at  home  and  found  so  much  in  the 
large  and  delightful  society  of  that  home  that 
he  had  no  need  of  roaming  much  abroad  for 
acquaintance  or  friendship. 

"That  he  loved  his  class,  the  little  poem  he  sent 
us  on  the  fiftieth  anniversary  abundantly  testifies. 

"  Very  truly, 

"J.  T.  Coolidge." 

Mr.  Coolidge,  on  the  occasion  stated,  read  the 
poem  of  which  his  letter  speaks.  In  this  poem 
Mr.  Story  asks  his  classmates, 

What  would  we  not  give  for  our  eighteen  years  again  ? 


SECOND   CENTENNIAL  AT   HARVARD.        45 

This  question  in  itself  goes  far  to  prove  that 
they  must  have  been  happy  years. 

Some  idea  of  the  "  delightful  society "  of  that 
home  life  may  be  had  from  the  description  of 
Judge  Story's  daily  routine  (from  "Life  and 
Letters"): 

"  He  rose  in  summer  at  seven  o'clock,  and  at 
half-past  seven  in  winter.  If  breakfast  was  not 
ready  he  went  to  his  library  to  write  during  the 
interval,  whether  of  five  minutes  or  fifty.  When 
the  family  assembled,  he  was  called,  and  break- 
fasted with  them,  afterward  sat  in  the  drawing- 
room  from  half  to  three-quarters  of  an  hour 
reading  newspapers,  then  returned  to  his  study 
till  the  bell  sounded  for  the  lecture  at  the  Law 
School.  After  lecturing  for  two  or  three  hours 
he  returned  to  his  study,  and  worked  till  two 
o'clock,  when  he  was  called  to  dinner,  for  which 
one  hour  was  allowed;  it  was  always  simple. 
Again,  to  study  so  long  as  daylight  lasted,  unless 
called  away  by  visitors  or  moot-court.  Then  he 
came  down  and  joined  the  family,  and  work  for 
the  day  was  over.  Tea  came  in  about  seven 
o'clock  ;  how  lively  and  gay  he  was  then,  chatting 
over  the  most  familiar  topics  of  the  day  or  deeper 
currents  with  equal  ease!  All  his  law  he  left  in 
his  library  and  was  here  a  domestic  man  in  his 
home.  During  the  evening  he  received  his 
friends,  and  was  rarely  without  company;  if  alone, 


46  REMINISCENCES  OF  W.  W.  STORY. 

he  read  some  new  publication,  review,  or  novel, 
listened  to  music,  or  very  commonly  played  back- 
gammon with  my  mother.  In  summer  afternoons 
toward  twilight  he  might  always  be  seen  sitting 
with  his  family  under  the  portico,  talking  or  read- 
ing some  light  pamphlet  or  newspaper,  often  sur- 
rounded by  friends  and  making  the  air  ring  with 
his  gay  laugh.  This,  with  the  interval  of  tea-time, 
would  last  till  nine  o'clock.  At  ten  or  half-past 
he  retired  for  the  night." 

In  this  picture  it  is  not  difficult  to  touch  the 
source  of  young  Story's  enthusiasm  and  spirits, 
the  superabundance  of  which,  indeed,  has  led  him 
to  be  charged  with  telling  Miss  Harriet  Martineau 
"  some  enormous  yarns  through  her  ear- trumpet, 
which  she  gravely  printed." 

In  "  Memoir  and  Letters  of  Charles  Sumner," 
by  Edward   L.   Pierce,   is  found  the  following: 

"William  W.  Story  writes  from  Rome: 

"  '  I  was  a  mere  boy  when  I  first  knew  him,  but 
the  affectionate  kindness  which  he  then  showed  me 
remained  unclouded  by  the  slightest  shadow  until 
the  day  of  his  death.  His  father  was  in  a  class 
two  years  before  my  father  at  Harvard.  . 
He  used  to  come  to  our  house  two  or  three 
evenings  in  the  week.  .  .  .  When  I  heard 
that  he  was  in  the  room,  I  quitted  all  occupations 
to  see  and  hear  him,  though  for  the  most  part  I 
only  played   the  role  of    listener.     When   other 


SECOND   CENTENNIAL  AT   HARVARD.        47 

persons  came  in,  he  would  turn  to  me  and  make 
inquiries  as  to  my  studies,  and  endeavor  to  help 
me  in  them  ;  and  at  last,  out  of  pure  good  nature, 
he  proposed  to  me  to  come  to  his  room  in  the 
Dane  Law  College,  and  read  Latin  with  him  and 
talk  over  the  ancient  authors.  I  gladly  accepted 
the  offer,  and  many  an  evening  I  used  to  spend 
with  him  in  half  study,  half  talk.  We  used  then, 
also,  to  cap  Latin  verses;  and  he  so  roused  my 
ambition  not  to  be  outdone  by  him  that  I  col- 
leted  from  various  authors  a  bookful  of  verses, 
all  of  which  I  committed  to  memory.  Of  course 
he  beat  me  always,  for  he  had  a  facile  and  iron 
memory,  which  easily  seized  and  steadily  retained 
everything  he  acquired.' " 

Another  glimpse  into  this  home  life  is  given 
through  a  letter  from  Judge  Story,  dated  Cam- 
bridge, April  7,  1837: 

"Dear  Miss  Martineau:  I  shall  work  for  you 
in  all  ways  I  can.  ...  A  word  or  two  about 
my  own  family.  Mrs.  Story  has  become  a  per- 
manent invalid.  .  .  .  My  daughter  Mary  has 
been  somewhat  out  of  health  for  the  past  six 
months,  but  she  seems  gradually  to  be  regaining 
strength.  William  is  in  college,  hale  and  cheer- 
ful and  flushed  with  hope,  loving  music,  drawing, 
and  study,  as  far  as  study  suits  the  buoyancy 
of  young  men. 


48  REMINISCENCES  OF  W.  W.  STORY. 

"We  all  miss  you  at  our  fireside  in  those  two 
last  hours  of  evening  before  bed-time,  which  you 
used  to  light  up  with  such  delightful  conversa- 
tions and  anecdotes  —  aye,  and  ghost  stories,  too 
—  as  to  make  us  forget  our  sleep,  and  to  have 
waking  dreams  of  pleasure. 

"  They  all  send  their  love  to  you,  and  share  in 
my  impatience  for  Miss  Martineau's  new  work, 
'  Society  in  America.'  Believe  me,  very  truly  and 
affectionately 

"  Your  friend, 

"Joseph  Story." 

The  young  man's  love  of  art,  both  music  and 
drawing,  is  emphasized  in  this  letter  for  the  first 
time. 

Many  years  afterward,  when  Mr.  Story  had 
a  summer  home  in  the  English  lake  district, 
where  Miss  Martineau  lived,  their  meetings  were 
full  of  charming  reminiscences  of  her  first  visit  to 
America.  In  her  book  on  "  Society  in  America," 
Miss  Martineau  writes  appreciatively  of  "one 
winter  passed  in  Boston  —  always  in  the  house  of 
persons  who  had  become  intimate  and  dear  friends. 
Judge  Story  would  enliven  a  dinner 
at  Pekin." 

Some  pleasing  pictures  are  given  in  "  Life  and 
Letters  "  of  Judge  Story's  study-studio  during  his 
intervals  of  rest;    when  he  would  recline  on  his 


SECOND   CENTENNIAL  AT   HARVARD.       49 

sofa,  his  son,  perhaps,  modeling  a  bust  of  him,  and 
his  daughter  Mary  reading  to  them  both,  until 
some  of  Miss  Austin's  characters  seemed  living 
actualities  to  them  all. 

From  another  classmate  of  Mr.  Story's,  S.  L. 
Abbott  of  Boston,  is  the  following: 

"My  college  recollections  of  'Bill. Story,'  as  we 
used  to  call  him,  are  of  very  little  value.  I 
remember  him  as  a  very  good-looking,  pleasant, 
popular,  young  fellow,  unusually  bright,  but  not 
much  given  to  study.  ...  So  far  as  Story  was 
known  in  the  college  I  think  he  was  much  liked. 
.  .  .  He  lived  at  his  father's  house,  which  was 
some  distance  from  the  college,  and,  consequently, 
was  not  so  much  among  us  socially  as  he  other- 
wise would  have  been. 

"Story  had  a  beautiful  bass  voice,  and  was  a 
member  of  the  only  college  glee  club  existing  at 
that  time.  He  was,  also,  one  of  a  cricket  club  of 
which  I  was  a  member.  I  think  I  also  recollect 
that  he  had  some  talent  for  drawing. 

"  I  remember  very  well  that  many  years  after 
our  graduation,  when  he  had  already  achieved  a 
reputation  as  a  sculptor,  he  returned  to  Cam- 
bridge and  was  one  of  a  procession  of  the  gradu- 
ates on  some  special  occasion  (perhaps  it  was  at 
the  dedication  of  the  Memorial  Hall),  and  I  hap- 
pened to  walk  beside  him.     I  remember  speaking 


50  REMINISCENCES  OF  W.  W.  STORY. 

to  some  of  my  classmates,  who  seemed  not  to 
have  observed  or  recognized  him,  saying  '  there's 
Bill  Story,'  and  as  they  turned  toward  him  his 
cordial  exclamation,  'Bill  Story!  How  good  it  is 
to  be  called  Bill  Story  once  more! ' 

"  I  am  sorry  to  say  that  I  am  unable  to  give 
you  anything  of  more  value  as  a  remembrance  of 
William  Story.  We  were  all  boys  together  at  that 
time,  most  of  us  graduating  at  an  age  which,  at 
the  present  day,  is  that  of  a  large  proportion  of 
those  just  beginning  their  college  course.  I  am 
"  Very  sincerely  yours, 

"S.  L.  Abbott." 

At  nineteen  years  of  age  William  Story  gradu- 
ated from  Harvard  University.  He  was  the  class 
poet  of  1838.  He  now  entered  the  Harvard  Law 
School,  and  diligently  devoted  himself  to  his  legal 
studies  under  his  father  and  Professor  Greenleaf ; 
but  his  artistic  nature  had  begun  to  assert  itself 
strongly,  as  is  instanced  in  a  letter  from  his  father 
dated 

"  Washington,  January  27,  1839. 

"  Dear  William:  I  am  much  obliged  to  you  for 
your  letter,  and  —  what  you  may  not  have  exactly 
conjectured  —  I  agree  entirely  in  the  view  sug- 
gested in  it.  My  opinion  is  that  every  man  should 
propose  to  himself  one  great  object  in  life,  to 
which  he   should   devote  his  main,  but  not  his 


SECOND  CENTENNIAL  AT   HARVARD.       51 

exclusive,  attention.  Without  keeping  constantly 
in  view  one  main  object  or  purpose,  a  man  never 
can  hope  for  eminence,  and  not  even  success.  On 
the  other  hand,  an  exclusive  devotion  to  a  single 
aim  generally  makes  a  man  narrow  in  his  views, 
vulgar  in  his  prejudices,  and  illiberal  in  his  opin- 
ions. I  think  every  man  should  widen  his  learn- 
ing and  literature,  and  vary  his  tastes  as  far  as  he 
may,  by  comprehensive  examinations  not  incon- 
sistent with  or  superseding  his  main  pursuit. 

"  I  agree,  also,  that  the  true  secret  of  study  is 
not  merely  in  constancy,  but  variety  and  change 
in  it.  Besides,  he  who  has  a  taste  for  different 
pursuits  is  not  only  more  independent  of  others 
in  his  enjoyments,  but  he  is  more  master  of  his 
own  time  and  thoughts;  he  wastes  less  in  the 
mere  pursuit  of  idle  and  desultory  pleasures.  So 
you  may  perceive  that  I  am  not  yet  so  old  as  not 
to  believe  that  there  are  other  things  besides  law 
which  are  worth  trying  one's  mind  in  grappling 
with,  and  improving  one's  taste  and  perceptions 
by  mastering.     ..." 

This  wide-minded  sympathy,  dear  as  it  must 
have  been,  was  the  greatest  hindrance  encoun- 
tered by  the  young  man  in  choosing  between 
what  he  believed  to  be  his  duty  in  pursuing  the 
study  of  law  and  his  strong  inclinations  to  follow 
an  artistic  career. 

Harvard  Law  School  now  opened  its  doors  to 


52  REMINISCENCES  OF  W.  W.  STORY. 

young  Story.  In  this  connection  an  incident 
related  by  R.  H.  Dana,  Jr.,  in  a  letter  to  Mr. 
Story,  dated  May  3,  185 1,  describing  a  moot-court 
scene,  may  be  found  interesting: 

"You  remember  the  importance  that  we 
attached  to  the  argument  of  moot-court  cases. 
Yet  no  ambitious  young  man,  on  his  first  appear- 
ance, showed  more  interest  in  the  causes  than 
your  father,  who,  as  you  know,  had  usually  heard 
them  argued  before  at  Washington,  or  on  his 
circuits,  by  most  eminent  counsel.  Saturday,  you 
remember,  is  a  dies  11011  juridicus  at  Cambridge. 
To  compel  a  recitation  on  Saturday  afternoon, 
among  the  undergraduates,  would  have  caused  a 
rebellion.  If  a  moot  court  had  been  forced  upon 
the  law  school,  no  one  would  have  attended.  At 
a  close  of  term  there  was  one  more  case  than 
could  be  heard  unless  we  took  Saturday.  The 
counsel  were  anxious  to  argue  it,  but  unwilling  to 
resort  to  that  extreme  measure.  Your  father 
said: 

" '  Gentlemen,  the  only  time  we  can  hear  this 
case  is  Saturday  afternoon  —  this  is  dies  non,  and 
no  one  is  obliged  or  expected  to  attend.  I  am  to 
hold  court  in  Boston  until  two  o'clock.  I  will 
ride  directly  out,  take  a  hasty  dinner,  and  be  here 
by  half  past  three  o'clock,  and  hear  the  case  if 
you  are  willing.' 

"He   looked    around   the   school   for   a  reply. 


SECOND   CENTENNIAL  AT   HARVARD.       53 

We  felt  ashamed  to  be  outdone  in  zeal  and  labor 
by  this  aged  and  distinguished  man,  to  whom 
the  case  was  but  child's  play,  a  tale  twice  told, 
and  who  was  himself  pressed  down  with  almost 
incredible  labors.  The  proposal  was  unanimously 
accepted.  Your  father  was  on  the  spot  at  the 
hour,  the  school  was  never  more  full,  and  he  sat 
until  late  in  the  evening,  hardly  a  man  leaving 
the  room." 

From  this  school  William  Story  graduated  in 
1840,  taking  his  degree  of  LL.B.  in  the  twenty- 
first  year  of  his  age. 


VI. 

Margaret  Fuller's  Conversations. 
(1841.) 

There  is  a  charming  book  entitled  "  Margaret 
and  Her  Friends,"  or  "Ten  Conversations  with 
Margaret  Fuller  upon  the  Mythology  of  the 
Greeks,  and  its  impressions  in  art,  held  at  the 
home  of  the  Rev.  George  Ripley,  Bedford  Place, 
Boston,  beginning  March  1,  1841."  This  work, 
published  in  1895  in  Boston,  gives  as  participants 
in  that  brilliant  society  of  men  and  women  these 
names:  George  Ripley,  Sophia  Dana  (his  wife), 
Ralph  Waldo  Emerson,  James  Freeman  Clarke, 
the  gifted  Peabody  sisters  (one  of  whom  was  Mrs. 
Nathaniel  Hawthorne),  Mrs.  Dall,  herself  (as  Caro- 
line W.  Healy),  the  reporter  of  the  Conversations, 
and  William  Story,  whom  the  latter  named  the 
"  preux  chevalier" 

During  one  of  their  meetings  James  Freeman 
Clarke  asked  "  Why  art  should  present  a  so  much 
more  inspiring  view  of  Greek  mythology  than 
poetry  ? " 

"William   Story  thought  it  was   because   the 

(54) 


MARGARET   FULLER'S  CONVERSATIONS.     55 

poets  wrote  for  popular  applause  —  for  recitation 
and  its  immediate  effect.  Sculptors  labored  more 
purely  for  their  art."  Some  pages  farther  on, 
when  discussing  the  different  merits  of  genius 
and  wisdom,  Story  is  reported  as  saying  that 
"genius  was  indebted  to  wisdom  for  means  of 
communication.  Genius  thinks  words  imperti- 
nent, but  wisdom  apprehends  its  intuitions  and 
gives  them  shape." 

When  the  conversation  drifted  into  moraliza- 
tion,  William  Story  said  that  "  good  and  evil  were 
related  terms;  if  both  did  not  exist,  neither  could, 
an  antagonism  being  the  spring  of  most  things  in 
the  universe."  In  defining  Creation,  he  said  "  it 
was  rather  the  exponent  of  a  love  which  must 
bless  than  of  an  activity  which  must  act.  It  was 
a  Paternal  power  that  ruled,  not  an  autocratic 
power  which  fathered  us." 


VII. 

Practice  of  Law.  Letter  from  W.  I.  Bowditch. 
Love  of  Art.  Charles  Sumner.  Daniel 
Webster.  Letter  from  Judge  Story.  Ad- 
vice to  a  Young  Lawyer  (a  Poem  by  Judge 

Story). 

(1841-1846.) 

Mr.  William  I.  Bowditch  of  Boston  says  of 
Mr.  Story:  "  I  did  not  know  him  at  all  intimately 
until  we  were  in  the  law  school  together.  Then, 
although  he  showed  proficiency  as  a  law  student, 
his  tastes  were  evidently  toward  art.  It  so  hap- 
pened that  he  sat  immediately  behind  me  at  the 
lectures  given  by  his  father,  and  he  would  fre- 
quently pass  round  in  front  of  me  a  sketch  of  his 
father  made  on  the  spot  on  a  slip  of  paper,  or  on 
the  blank  leaf  of  the  book  we  were  studying. 
The  sketches  were  always  good  and  lifelike. 

"  He  published  several  editions  of  his  father's 
works,  but  finally  abandoned  the  law  for  art,  as  I 
felt  he  would. 

"  I  am  sorry  I  can  not  aid  you  more,  for  he 
really  was  one  of  the  most  distinguished  mem- 
bers of  our  class." 

(56) 


PRACTICE  OP  LAW.  57 

Mr.  Story  was  admitted  to  the  Essex  bar,  1841, 

and  Madame  M of  Philadelphia,  the  sister  of 

Mrs.  W.  W.  Story,  says  of  the  vent  of  his  mind : 

"  His  love  of  art  began  to  show  itself  very 
early,  though,  to  please  his  father,  he  began  the 
practice  of  law  with  Mr.  Hilliard  and  Charles 
Sumner,  and  continued  it  until  his  father's  death, 
with  Mr.  George  Ticknor  Curtis." 

In  her  recent  publication,  "An  Epistle  to  Pos- 
terity," Mrs.  M.  E.  W.  Sherwood  relates  one  of 
the  very  interesting  incidents  of  Mr.  Story's  life 
as  follows: 

"  I  remember  one  anecdote  of  Mr.  Webster's 
immense  personal  charm  told  me  by  W.  W.  Story, 
of  Rome. 

"'James  Lowell  and  I,'  said  he,  'were  very 
angry  with  Webster  for  staying  in  old  Tyler's 
cabinet,  and  as  he  was  to  speak  in  Faneuil  Hall 
on  the  evening  of  the  30th  of  September,  1842,  we 
determined  to  go  in  and  hoot  at  him,  and  to  show 
him  that  he  had  incurred  our  displeasure.  There 
were  3,000  people  there,  and  we  felt  sure  that 
they  would  hoot  with  us,  young  as  we  were. 

" '  But  we  reckoned  without  our  host.  Mr. 
Webster,  beautifully  dressed,  stepped  forward. 
His  great  eyes  looked,  as  I  shall  always  think, 
straight  at  me.  I  pulled  off  my  hat;  James 
pulled  off  his.  We  both  became  as  cold  as  ice 
and  as  respectful  as  Indian  coolies.     I  saw  James 


58  REMINISCENCES  OF  W.  W.  STORY. 

turn  pale;  he  said  that  I  was  livid.  And  when 
the  great  creature  began  that  most  beautiful 
exordium  our  scorn  turned  to  deepest  admiration, 
from  abject  contempt  to  belief  and  approbation.'  " 

From  a  "  Memoir  of  Charles  Sumner,"  by- 
Edward  L.  Pierce,  is  the  following: 

"  W.  W.  Story,  then  a  -student  in  the  office  of 
Hilliard  &  Sumner,  writes  of  Sumner  and  himself 
thus: 

"  '  I  studied  the  practice  of  law  in  his  office  in 
Boston,  and  was  for  two  years  in  constant  daily 
intercourse  with  him  and  his  partner,  Hilliard; 
and  pleasant  and  instructive  days  they  were.  . 
.  .  He  was  uniformly  kind  and  considerate  to 
me,  and  ready  to  put  down  his  pen  to  answer  any 
questions  or  elucidate  any  subject.  .  .  .  Hil- 
liard and  he  and  I  used  to  talk  infinitely,  not  only 
of  law,  but  of  poetry  and  general  literature  and 
authors,  when  business  would  allow  —  nay,  some- 
times when  it  would  not  allow;  but  who  can  resist 
temptation  with  such  tastes  as  we  all  had  ? '  " 

A  letter  from  Judge  Story  to  his  son  at  this 

important    period    of    his    life,    and    the    poem 

inclosed  in  it,  are  filled  with  wholesome  counsel 

and    kindly   encouragement.      The    letter    reads 

thus: 

"Washington,  February  9,  1841. 

"My  Dear  Son:  I  am  glad  that  you  are  at 
length  quietly  settled  in  Boston.     It  is,  exactly 


PRACTICE  OF  LAW.  59 

as  I  expected,  a  striking  transition  from  the 
literary  world  and  the  home  department.  It 
reminds  me  strongly  of  my  own  case,  when, 
escaping  from  the  walls  of  college,  of  a  sudden  I 
found  myself  in  a  lawyer's  office  among  the  dusty 
rubbish  of  former  ages.  I  could  say  with  Spell- 
man  that  my  heart  sank  within  me.  But  it  was 
only  the  first  plunge.  I  paddled  along,  and 
became  encouraged  with  the  hope  of  success. 

"  I  am  very  glad  to  hear  that  James  Lowell's 
work  (A  Year's  Life)  succeeds.     .     .     . 

"  Happening  the  other  day  to  be  at  Mr.  Web- 
ster's, I  saw  an  old  edition  of  Horace,  which  I 
borrowed,  and  have  been  reading  more  than  one- 
half  of  the  odes.  After  all,  there  is  little  material 
in  Horace.  His  principal  merit  is  a  certain  grace- 
fulness and  elegant  form  of  phrase,  and  a  light 
cheerfulness.  But  he  was  a  mere  fawning  syco- 
phant and  courtier,  and,  according  to  his  own 
account  of  the  matter,  as  gross  a  debauchee  as 
lived  in  his  day. 

"Your  affectionate  father, 

"Joseph  Story." 

The  poem  is  as  follows: 

ADVICE  TO  A  YOUNG  LAWYER. 

Whene'er  you  speak,  remember  every  cause 
Stands  not  on  eloquence,  but  on  laws. 
Be  brief,  be  pointed;  let  your  matter  stand 
Lucid,  in  order,  solid,  and  at  hand; 


60  REMINISCENCES  OF  W.  W.  STORY. 

Spend  not  your  words  on  trifles,  but  condense; 
Strike  with  a  mass  of  thought,  not  drops  of  sense; 
Press  to  the  close  with  vigor,  once  begun, 
And  leave  (how  hard  the  task!),  leave  off,  when  done; 
Who  draws  a  labored  length  of  reasoning  out, 
Puts  straws  in  line  for  winds  to  whirl  about; 
Who  drawls  a  tedious  length  of  learning  o'er, 
Counts  but  the  sands  on  ocean's  boundless  shore. 
Victory  in  law  is  gained,  as  battles  fought, 
Not  by  the  numbers,  but  the  forces  brought. 
What  boots  success  in  skirmish  or  in  fray, 
If  rout,  and  ruin  following,  close  the  day? 
What  worth  a  hundred  posts  maintained  with  skill, 
If  these  all  held,  the  foe  is  victor  still? 
He  who  would  win  his  cause,  with  power  must  frame 
Points  of  support,  and  look  with  steady  aim; 
Attack  the  weak,  defend  the  strong  with  art, 
Strike  but  few  blows,  but  strike  them  to  the  heart; 
All  scattered  fires  but  end  in  smoke  and  noise, 
The  scorn  of  men,  the  idle  play  of  boys. 
Keep,  theji,  this  first  great  precept  ever  near, 
Short  be  your  speech,  your  matter  strong  and  clear, 
Earnest  your  manner,  warm  and  rich  your  style, 
Severe  in  taste,  yet  full  of  grace  the  while; 
So  may  you  reach  the  loftiest  heights  of  fame, 
And  leave,  when  life  is  past,  a  deathless  name. 

Mr.  Story  devoted  himself  faithfully,  for  some 
years,  to  the  law,  being  in  turn  reporter  of  the 
Circuit  Court,  Commissioner  in  Bankruptcy,  Com- 
missioner of  the  United  States,  and  arguing 
many  cases.  He  also  published  the  following 
legal  works :  "  Reports  of  Cases  Argued  and 
Determined  in  the  United  States  Circuit  Courts," 
three    volumes,    Boston,    1842;    "Report   of  the 


PRACTICE  OF  LAW.  61 

Case  of  Washburn  et  al.  vs.  Gould,"  in  May, 
1844;  "Treatise  on  Law  of  Contracts,"  1844. 
Colonel  Higginson  says  of  this  work  of  Mr. 
Story's  : 

"  He  should  be  remembered  by  women  for  a 
passage  in  his  book  on  '  Contracts,'  which  was 
about  the  first  protest  in  an  American  law  book 
against  the  injustice  of  laws  to  women."  The 
"  Treatise  on  Contracts  Not  Under  Seal "  went 
to  its  fifth  edition.  "  Commentaries  on  Laws  of 
Bailments,"  edited  by  W.  W.  Story,  was  published 
in  1846;  also,  in  that  year,  "Commentaries  on 
Laws  of  Partnership." 

The  good,  serious  New  England  folk  did  not 
quite  approve  of  the  strong  artistic  tendencies, 
nor  of  the  superabundance  of  spirits,  in  young 
Story,  and  were  led  something  astray  when  they 
decided  that  "  he  was  too  frivolous  to  make  a  law- 
yer." The  writings  on  law  noted  above  go  far  to 
refute  such  an  opinion. 


VIII. 

Early  Literary  Efforts.   Contributions  to  the 
"Boston  Miscellany  "  and  "The  Pioneer." 

(1842- 1843.) 

Col.  T.  W.  Higginson  of  Cambridge  has  paid  a 
generous  tribute  to  his  old-time  friend  by  cordi- 
ally supplying  much  that  is  of  both  value  and 
interest  regarding  Mr.  Story's  early  life. 

Colonel  Higginson  says:  "  Nathan  Hale  (older 
brother  of  Rev.  E.  E.  Hale)  edited  the  Boston 
Miscellany  for  two  years,  and  William  Story  wrote 
a  good  deal  in  it;  and  he  and  Lowell  each  wrote 
under  different  names  in  Lowell's  short-lived 
Pioneer.  I  could  probably  tell  you  which  were 
Story's  contributions  if  you  would  like  to  know." 

From  Colonel  Higginson's  carefully  prepared 
list  of  "Contributions  by  William  W.  Story"  to 
the  Boston  Miscellany  were  selected  the  following 
poems  and  essays.     Upon  page  115  is  an  essay  on 

THE  STUDENT  ANTONIUS. 

O,  thou  who  plumed  with  strong  desire 
Wouldst  float  above  the  earth,  beware! 
A  shadow  tracks  thy  flight  of  fire, 
Night  is  coming. 
(62) 


EARLY  LITERARY   EFFORTS.  63 

Shelley  gives  the  text  for  this  pathetic  prose- 
poem  of  an  "Artist  in  Music "  his  unsatisfied 
dreams,  his  disappointments,  and  his  death.  In  it 
Mr.  Story  says,  "  There  is  nothing  so  hard  to  meet 
in  life  as  indifference.  Opposition  can  be  met, 
and  the  meeting  it  strengthens,  nerves  us;  but 
indifference  is  sickening  —  and  only  the  strong, 
whose  hearts  are  full  of  energy,  and  firm  in  hope, 
and  earnest  in  will,  can  stand  self-supported 
against  that  verdict,  rejected,  not  as  being  with- 
out merit,  but  as  being  unsuited  to  the  public 
taste."  The  student  Antonius  says,  in  speaking 
of  music: 

"But  I  can  not  give  it  up.  O, heavens!  how 
can  I  give  up  what  is  the  life  of  my  life  ?  "  This 
seems  a  reflected  thought  from  young  Story's  own 
soul  in  his  personal  conflict  for  his  artistic  career. 
A  few  lines  farther  on  are  these  expressions: 

"  Ah,  how  little  do  we  know  of  the  life  that  is 
striving  in  the  next  street,  in  the  next  room,  in 
the  next  heart !  That  which  is  poetry  in  the 
poems  we  read,  is  that  which  is  not  expressed. 
We  can  never  tell  why  we  love;  it  is  an  incom- 
prehensible tendency  of  one  soul  with  another 
which,  though  inexplicable,  can  not  be  contended 
against.  It  is  not  until  repeated  efforts  and 
repeated  failures  that  the  hand  becomes  married 
to  the  thought.  But  there  is  no  such  thing  as  a 
perfect  expression  of  one's  thought  in  art;  that 


64  REMINISCENCES  OF  W.  W.  STORY. 

which  we  produce  bears  no  comparison  with  that 
which  burns  in  the  soul;  "  yet  "more  than  this  is 
forbidden  to  the  organization  of  man's  mind." 
In  striving  to  do  more  than  this,  the  spirit  of  "  The 
Student  Antonius  "  took  its  flight,  saying  : 

Music  !  Thou  thy  subtle  web  entwinest 
Round  the  inmost  feelings  of  the  heart; 

Thou,  of  all  we  know  on  earth,  divinest, 
Nature's  spirit  voice,  and  soul  of  Art ! 

This  poem  shows  clearly  what  music  ever  meant 
to  the  sculptor.  Nearly  all  who  speak  of  him  in 
his  later  life,  and  those  who  have  done  so  in  con- 
nection with  his  early  days,  place  a  special  stress 
upon  his  musical  abilities  as  contributing  in  no 
small  degree  to  his  generally  conceded  popularity. 

In  Lowell's  short-lived  Pioneer,  over  the  pen 
name  of  I.  B.  Wright,  is  found  a  criticism  of  paint- 
ings, said  to  have  been  written  by  W.  W.  Story. 
It  bears  the  date  1842,  and  occurs  in  Volume  1, 
Number  1,  page  12.  It  is  entitled  "Catalogue  of 
Paintings  at  the  Boston  Athenaeum."  After  some 
generalization,  the  writer  makes  this  very  frank 
admission:  "Most  of  our  pictures  are  bad."  He 
then  proceeds  to  give  his  reasons  and  remedies. 
He  pays  a  glowing  tribute  to  the  works  of  Leon- 
ardo di  Vinci  and  Perugino,  after  which  he  says: 

"We  now  come  to  modern  pictures.  We  find 
no  fault  with  anyone  for  painting  bad  pictures. 
We  ourselves  have  painted  some  very  bad  ones, 


EARLY   LITERARY  EFFORTS.  65 

but  have  never  exhibited  them.  But  when  a 
picture  makes  a  claim  upon  the  public  atten- 
tion, betakes  itself  to  a  richly-ornamented  frame, 
and  seems  to  dare  us  to  find  a  single  fault  with  it, 
we  think  it  is  fair  game.  Indiscriminate  praise  is 
always  an  injury,  for  he  who  praises  what  is  bad 
degrades  the  standard  of  excellence,  and  disallows 
the  claims  of  merit." 

Perhaps  it  may  not  be  out  of  place  to  give  here 
some  poetical  expressions  on  this  subject,  written 
by  Mr.  Story  about  twelve  years  later: 

Why  fear  the  critic's  pen  ?    If  dipped  in  gall  it  be, 
It  but  corrodes  itself,  it  can  not  injure  thee. 

Where  thou  art  strong  and  stout,  thy  friend  to  thee  will 

show; 
Where  thou  art  weak,  alone  is  taught  thee  by  thy  foe. 

Love  is  the  only  key  of  knowledge  as  of  art, 
Nothing  is  truly  ours  but  what  we  learn  by  heart. 

Speaking  of  West's  "  Venus  and  Adonis,"  he 
continues: 

"  We  used  to  wonder  at  the  unnatural  taste  of 
Adonis  in  preferring  the  chase  to  the  embraces  of 
Venus,  but  Benjamin  West  has  solved  the  riddle. 
If  this  be  Venus,  we  do  not  wonder  at  Adonis, 
and' if  this  be  Adonis,  Venus  was  a  greater  fool 
than  we  took  her  to  be. 

"  '  The  Sisters  '  is  the  best  picture  we  have  seen 

from  Mr.  Healy.     They  are  what  might  be  called 
5 


66  REMINISCENCES  OF  W.  W.  STORY. 

society  pictures,  but  Americans  are  a  very  serious 
people,  and  this  millinery  of  expression  does  not 
suit  their  faces.  The  '  Landscape  '  by  Mr.  Allston 
had  much  of  his  great  merit.  The  pine  tree  in  it 
lives,  and  one  can  almost  hear  the  wind  whisper- 
ing through  its  leaves." 

He  concludes:  "Americans  can  paint  and  do 
paint,  but  while  this  is  acknowledged  most  liber- 
ally abroad,  our  artists  can  not  support  themselves 
in  their  native  land.  Love  of  Art  has  almost 
become  a  sentence  of  expatriation.  Where  were 
the  Old  Masters  who  taught  the  Old  Masters? 
Where  was  their  Italy,  but  in  their  eyes  and  soul? 
The  only  wise  lessons  to  be  learned  from  the 
lives  of  the  great  masters  are,  '  Trust  thyself,'  and 
'Forget  that  any  ever  lived  before! '  " 

Very  practical  views  of  art,  as  a  rather  unsatis- 
factory calling  in  life,  were  entertained  by  the 
New  England  folk  generally;  and  that  such  opin- 
ions were  essentially  those  of  his  own  family  and 
friends,  was  always  a  matter  of  keen  distress  to 
young  Mr.  Story.  In  his  serious  moments  he 
continually  protested  against  these  sentiments, 
and  throughout  his  life  he,  from  time  to  time, 
gave  some  such  expression  to  his  thoughts  upon 
the  subject  as  this: 

There  is  a  groveling  class  who  would  refuse 
The  claims  of  Art,  and  ask  it  for  its  use, 
Who  can  not  feel  the  same  mysterious  power 


EARLY  LITERARY  EFFORTS.  67 

That  wields  the  thunder,  also  shapes  the  flower; 
To  whom  the  burning  hope  of  youth  is  cant, 
Its  longing,  folly,  and  its  passion  rant; 
And,  while  they  trudge  along  with  downcast  eye, 
Sneer  at  the  fool  who  dreams  there  is  a  sky. 
And  is  it  nothing  in  thy  hand  to  wield 
An  aegis,  that  compels  the  world  to  yield 
Within  its  yoke  all  bounds  of  space  to  bow 
And  bar  all  Time  to  one  eternal  Now  ? 

The  following  generalizations  upon  Art  and 
Love  are  taken  from  "  Dream  Love  ": 

"  These  are  desultory  letters  from  my  journal, 
and  are  hasty  transcripts  of  my  life.  I  am  a  poor 
painter.  This  world  hath  been  the  hull  of  many 
joys  and  priceless  delights,  but  it  hath  also  had  its 
severe  privations  and  its  weary  tasks.  I  fluttered 
round  this  one  great  luminous  idea,  Art  —  in  its 
light  is  joy,  but  in  its  flame,  death. 

"I  am  a  dreamer  —  well,  scoff  not  at  me;  our 
dreams  are  the  best  and  truest  portion  of  our  life. 
Our  hopes  are  dreams,  our  plans  are  dreams;  love 
is  a  dream,  life  is  a  dream,  and  sin  a  blindness 
without  dreams.  Our  hours  of  anguish  and  tribu- 
lation, under  the  shadow  of  night,  none  ever 
know  who  see  us  smiling. 

"  May  25th:  Dreams  seem  to  be  a  mirage  of  the 
whole  spiritual  landscape  —  our  experience  lifted 
out  of  the  actual  world  on  a  more  airy  platform; 
and  are  but  the  foreshortened  shadows  of  our 
hopes.     Our  dreams  at  least   reveal  our  nature, 


68  REMINISCENCES  OF  W.  W.  STORY. 

for  stupid  persons  will  be  stupid  even  asleep, 
and  genius  then  runs  its  wildest  vagaries.  .  .  . 
Has  not  love  always  been  the  greatest  inspiration? 
Genius  can  not  exist  without  it,  for  only  through 
love  comes  knowledge.  We,  in  common  speech,  hit 
the  truth  when  we  speak  of  '  learning  by  heart.' 
"June  20,  1843,  I  shaped  this  song: 

"  No  hour  of  life  is  wholly  bright, 
Even  love  must  have  its  sorrow; 
One-half  the  word  must  sleep  in  night  — 
To-day  must  dread  to-morrow. 

"June  25th:  Life  is,  after  all,  just  what  we 
choose  to  make  it.  .  .  .  No  man  is  so  poor 
that  he  can  not  shape  a  whole  world  for  himself 
out  of  nothing.  ...  I  look  down  the  forest's 
sombre  aisles  and  hear  the  groaning  of  the  oaks, 
wrestling  with  the  night-blast,  as  if  they  were 
struggling  in  prayer  against  an  evil  spirit.  .  .  . 
Is  it  not  my  world  I  behold?  .  .  .  Here  from 
my  window  all,  as  far  as  I  can  see,  is  mine.  . 
.  .  I  pay  no  taxes.  .  .  .  We  artists  live  the 
best  lives.  The  old  barnyard,  the  gnarled  oak, 
and  the  stunted  willow,  every  sunset  and  sun- 
rise, and  all  the  clouds,  and  all  the  human  faces 
become  full  of  interest  to  us,  filled  with  an  ever- 
shifting  beauty. 

"  July  3d.  Enthusiasm  is  unfashionable,  the 
ideal  a  bore,  high  projects  are  foolish  transcen- 
dentalisms, and  when  the  bewhipped  heart,  after 


EARLY   LITERARY   EFFORTS.  69 

it  has  run  its  gauntlet,  turns  and  asks  '  What  is 
true  and  good? '  'Our  forms,'  says  the  world,  and 
he  consents  for  sake  of  peace. 

"July  4th:  We  must  have  something  to  love, 
though  we  fashion  it  from  nothing  and  it  be  only 
a  dream.     We  can  not  live  for  ourselves  alone. 

"July  9th:  Belief  in  our  ability  is  the  touch- 
stone to  success.  All  great  minds  have  a  settled 
fearlessness  and  confidence,  which  look  like  in- 
spiration. Napoleon  conquered  and  intimidated 
all  Europe  by  his  sublime  faith  in  himself.  Oh 
for  a  glass  to  look  into  the  blank  future  before  me!" 

Mr.  Story  at  this  period  of  his  life,  and  per- 
chance in  a  lover's  humor,  would  scarce  have 
brooked  the  practical  advice  which  he  gave  many 
years  afterward  to  a  friend.     It  is  — 

Cease  to  peer  into  the  future,  nor  torture  yourself  with  care 
Of  fancied  delights  or  troubles  that  never  may  fall  to  your 

share ! 
The  present  alone  is  ours;  in  that  let  us  live  content, 
Enjoy  the  daily  blessings  the  gods  for  the  moment  have  lent. 
And  be  glad  for  the  gifts  that  are  granted,  nor  envy  what 

can  not  be  thine, 
For  the  life  that  with  Fate  is  in  balance  is  peaceful  and, 

so  far,  divine. 

"July  nth,"  he  continues:  "Genius  makes  its 
possessor  heir  to  a  thousand  pains  and  imaginary 
evils,  which  never  jar  the  less  refined  and  sen- 
sitive. 


7©  REMINISCENCES  OF  W.  W.  STORY. 

"  July  the  15th,"  Mr.  Story  concludes:  "  It  makes 
me  smile  to  think  how  wholly  a  fiction  of  fancy 
this  love  is  .  .  .  The  world,  which  is  so  very  wise 
in  its  own  conceit,  yet  does  not  know  of  this  life  I 
lead,  for  all  its  owlishness.  '  To  be  continued  '  — 
it  ends;  perchance  the  fancies  were  resolved  into 
facts." 

The  Pioneer  was  concluded  with  this  number. 


IX. 


Social  Life.    Courtship.    Marriage.     Birth  of 
Daughter.      Edith   Marion  Story. 

(1843- 1845.) 

That  young  Story  was  "regarded  as  a  good 
deal  of  a  flirt,"  in  a  harmless  sense,  is  perhaps  not 
a  matter  for  much  consideration,  it  being  gener- 
ally conceded  that  he  was  full  of  life  and  gracious- 
ness,  and  that  of  the  group  of  friends,  including 
James  Lowell,  Nathan  Hale,  William  White,  John 
King,  and  others,  he  was  "  the  gayest  of  them  all." 

He  spent  his  spare  hours  in  writing  magazine 
articles,  and  his  leisure  evenings  in  music  and 
modeling  in  clay.  That  social  constellation, 
"The  Brothers  and  Sisters,"  counted  him  their 
own,  while  of  "  Margaret  Fuller's  Conversations  " 
he  had  his  share  with  Emerson  and  others.  His 
sunny  disposition  no  doubt  went  far  to  insure 
favor  with  his  friends,  and  perhaps  gave  him  rea- 
son for  being  somewhat  satisfied  with  himself; 
but  there  was  ever  the  unrest  caused  by  the 
antagonism  of  his  professional  life  and  his  artistic 
nature  which  nothing  could  entirely  subdue. 

(7V 


72  REMINISCENCES  OF  W.  W.  STORY. 

Colonel  Higginson  says:  "  Emelyn  Eldredge  of 
Boston,  whom  he  finally  married,  was  an  occa- 
sional member  of  the  '  Brothers  and  Sisters.' 
Miss  Eldredge  belonged  to  one  of  the  most  prom- 
inent families  of  Boston  and  is  described  as  being 
'  very  beautiful  and  of  queenly  presence.'  "  Prob- 
ably Spencer's  ideal  of  a  boyish  cupid, 

Whose  shafts  with  roses  are  entwined, 
Shaking  his  nine  sweet  bells  upon  the  wind, 

had  ceased  to  give  the  satisfaction  yielded  in 
early  youth,  and  Story's  growing  years  claimed 
something  more  than  boyish  dreams.  Miss 
Eldredge's  charming  reality  doubtless  told  him 
"his  time  had  come,"  as  he  himself  expresses  it. 

When  mad  desire  born  in  the  sweet  abstract, 
Beats  its  mad  wings  against  the  sullen  fact; 
When  through  the  veins  a  sense  of  loving  stirs 
And  fuses  all  this  solid  universe; 
Through  strange  mysterious  realms  obscurely  sweet, 
With  tenderest  care,  Love  leads  our  wandering  feet. 

No  doubt  the  ''occasional"  presence  of  Miss 
Eldredge  made  young  Story  a  faithful  attendant 
upon  "  The  Brothers  and  Sisters,"  whereby  he 
caught  those 

Gleams  of  sweet  Love  mid  hurrying  hopes  and  fears, 
And  sudden  smiles  obscured  by  sudden  tears; 

and  in  this  sweet  lady  he  seemed  to  have 
awakened 


SOCIAL   LIFE.     COURTSHIP.     MARRIAGE.      73 

The  slumbering  passions  with  a  word  of  fire, 
That  plays  upon  the  heart  as  'twere  a  lyre, 

making  her,  also,  quite  sure  that 

Some  trait  of  grace  we  all  must  have  to  love, 
Some  gleam  of  beauty  dawning  from  above, 
Some  God  to  whom  we  lift  our  secret  prayer, 
Some  love  whose  light  may  shield  us  from  despair, 

and  also  made  her  quite  sure  that  he  was  all  in  all 
to  her,  for  it  is  a  matter  of  record  that  upon  Octo- 
ber 31,  1843,  William  Wetmore  Story  and  Emelyn 
Eldredge  were  married  by  the  Reverend  Charles 
Lowell. 

Madame  M of  Philadelphia  says   of    Mr. 

Story: 

"  He  delivered  two  poems  at  Harvard;  one  his 
class  poem,  and  the  other  called  the  Phi  Beta 
Kappa  Poem,  as  it  was  delivered  on  the  day  that 
society  met,  August  29,  1844.  His  father  made 
the  address  that  day  and  William  read  the  poem  on 
'  Nature  and  Art.'  At  the  conclusion  of  his  poem 
Mr.   Story  paid   this  tribute  to   Hiram   Powers: 

" '  One  man  there  is  to  whom  I  look  forward 
with  a  large  hope  as  the  creator  of  a  new  and 
original  style,  which  has  Nature  for  its  basis,  and 
which  embodies  the  life  and  thought  of  his  age. 
That  man  is  Hiram  Powers.     .     .     .  '  ,! 

They  were  friends  and  brother  servitors  in  the 
temple  of  "  Nature  and  Art." 


74  REMINISCENCES  OF  W.  W.  STORY. 

Except  casually,  or  in  anecdote,  Mr.  Story 
rarely  passed  judgment  upon  his  fellow-artists, 
his  usual  reply  to  questions  which  would  lead 
thereto  being: 

"  I  do  not  care  to  criticise  any  artist,  because 
every  word  in  that  direction  should  be  well 
weighed  and  carefully  considered." 

Upon  one  occasion,  being  urged  to  do  so,  he 
replied: 

"  Ho,  ho!  I  refuse  to  answer  that  question 
plumply.  Do  you  know,  I'm  much  too  good- 
natured  to  say  one  artist  is  better  than  another." 

Of  Mrs.  William  W.  Story  it  has  been  lately 
written:  "  Every  good  man  will  trace  his  success 
to  the  influence  of  a  woman.  It  is  either  his 
mother,  his  wife,  or  some  woman  he  loves.  The 
career  of  W.  W.  Story,  the  sculptor  of  Rome,  is 
a  striking  example.  For  the  tranquillity  of  his 
every-day  life,  and  to  his  reputation  as  an  artist 
and  man  of  letters,  he  is  largely  indebted  to  his 
wife,  who  recently  died.  This  remarkable  woman 
was  the  most  conspicuous  element  in  the  Ameri- 
can and  English  social  life  of  the  Eternal  City 
for  almost  half  a  century.  Her  departure  closes 
the  book  of  a  past  generation." 

On  August  23,  1844,  there  came  to  gladden  the 
hearts  of  her  young  parents,  a  little  one,  named 
Edith,  the  sole  daughter  of  their  house. 


X. 

Judge  Story's  Illness  and  Death.     Commission 
for  Judge  Story's  Statue. 

(1843-1845-) 

At  this  time  Judge  Story  was  seriously  consid- 
ering his  retirement  from  professional  life.  Of 
this  intention,  just  prior  to  his  last  illness  and  his 
death,  the  following  is  quoted  from  "The  Life 
and  Letters": 

"  He  was  now  sixty-five   years   of   age.      For 

thirty-three  years  he  had  labored  in  his  vocation 

as  judge,  and  its  duties  began  to  grow  irksome  to 

him.     He  desired  the  peace  and  quiet  of  home, 

and  every  recurring  year  quitted  his  family  for 

the  winter  with  more  and  more  reluctance.     The 

severe  illness  of  the  preceding  year  warned  him 

that  one  or  the  other  of  his  occupations  must  be 

abandoned.      To  quit  the  law  school  was  out  of 

the  question.     This  institution  he  had  built,  and  it 

was  the  delight  of  his  life.     Those  who  loved  him 

best,  most  desired  him  to  retire  from  public  life, 

and  to  devote  himself  to  those  pursuits  which  had 

for  him  the  greatest  charm.     .     .     . 

(75) 


76  REMINISCENCES  OF  W.  W.  STORY. 

"On  the  3d  of  July,  1845,  a  festival  was  given 
in  celebration  of  the  completion  of  two  large 
wings  which  it  had  been  found  necessary  to  add 
to  the  law  buildings,  in  order  to  accommodate  it 
to  the  increased  number  of  students  and  to  afford 
a  large  space  for  the  library.  In  superintending 
the  progress  of  these  additions,  my  father  took 
great  interest,  and  a  few  days  before  the  celebra- 
tion, he  carried  me  with  other  friends  over  the 
rooms,  pointing  out  their  conveniences,  and  with 
great  enthusiasm  expatiating  on  the  delightful 
dajrs  in  store  for  him,  little  foreseeing  that  those 
dreams  were  never  to  be  realized. 

"At  the  beginning  of  September  my  father 
had  finished  the  hearing  of  all  the  cases.  No 
judgments  delivered  by  him  are  more  clear,  able, 
and  elaborate  than  these.  But  the  heat  of  sum- 
mer, and  the  continuous  and  successive  labor, 
entirely  exhausted  him,  and  while  thus  prostrated 
he  took  a  slight  cold  in  the  beginning  of  Septem- 
ber, which  was  immediately  followed  by  a  violent 
stricture  and  stoppage  of  the  intestinal  canal. 
From  this  very  alarming  attack  he  was  at  last 
released.  His  strength  was,  however,  utterly  ex- 
hausted. But,  contrary  to  the  expectations  of  the 
physicians,  he  did  not  improve,  and  on  Sunday,  as 
the  domestic  propped  him  up  in  bed,  he  said, 
smiling: 

"  'Well,  David,  they  are  trying  to  patch  up  this 


JUDGE   STORY'S   ILLNESS  AND   DEATH.       77 

good-for-nothing  body,  but  I  think  it  is  scarcely- 
worth  while.'  Soon  after  he  called  my  mother  to 
him  and  said: 

"  '  I  think  it  my  duty  to  say  to  you,  that  I  have 
no  belief  that  I  can  recover;  it  is  vain  to  hope  it; 
but  I  die  content,  and  with  a  firm  faith  in  the 
goodness  of  God.  We  shall  meet  again!'  He 
then  ceased,  and  lay  as  in  prayer,  with  uplifted 
eyes.  In  this  calm  state,  and  very  feeble,  he  con- 
tinued for  two  days.  During  this  time  he  said, 
'  If  I  were  not  thus  ill,  my  letter  of  resignation 
would  have  been  on  its  way  to  Washington;  I 
should  have  completed  my  judicial  life.' 

"  On  Friday,  at  about  midnight,  a  change  took 
place,  and  it  was  manifest  that  he  could  not  live 
long.  Wednesday  he  gradually  lost  his  strength, 
and  lay  calm  and  peaceful,  without  taking  heed  of 
the  objects  and  friends  around  him. 

"  At  about  1 1  o'clock,  to  a  question  whether  he 
recognized  me,  he  opened  his  eyes  and  feebly 
smiled,  stretching  out  his  hands  toward  me,  and 
murmuring  some  indistinct  words.  Shortly  after 
this  he  breathed  his  last. 

"  Most  touching  instances  of  affectionate  feel- 
ing, which  his  kindly  nature  had  created,  were 
manifested  among  the  townfolk.  A  cloud  hung 
over  the  village;  business  was  stopped  in  the 
streets,  and  even  over  the  busy  stir  of  the  city  his 
illness  seemed  to  cast  a  shadow. 


7»  REMINISCENCES  OP  W.  W.  STORY. 

"His  funeral,  which  took  place  on  the  12th  of 
September,  1845,  was  strictly  private,  in  compli- 
ance with  his  wishes;  but  a  large  concourse  of 
persons  attended  the  hearse  in  which  his  body 
was  carried  to  Mount  Auburn,  and  clustered 
around  his  grave,  when  to  earth  we  gave  back 
what  belonged  to  it.  Among  them  were  the  most 
distinguished  men  of  Boston  and  its  vicinity,  and 
all  of  the  members  of  the  law  school.  The  town- 
folk  also  closed  their  shops  and  suspended  business 
for  the  day. 

"He  lies  in  the  cemetery  of  Mount  Auburn, 
beneath  the  shadows  of  forest  trees,  and  over  his 
remains  stands  a  marble  monument  erected  by 
him,  on  which  the  names  of  the  children  he  had 
lost  are  recorded.  On  one  side  of  this  monument 
is  the  motto,  '  Sorrow  not  as  those  without  hope,' 
and  on  the  other,  'Of  such  is  the  kingdom  of 
Heaven.'  On  the  front  now  stands  the  following 
inscription: 

Joseph  Story, 

Born  September  18th,  1779, 

Died  September  10th,  1845. 

'He  is  not  here— he  hath  departed.'  " 

Such  is  the  picture  of  these  last  scenes  of  his 
father's  life  given  by  Mr.  Story  in  185 1.  In  these 
simple,  pathetic  words  are  found  both  affection 
and  devotion. 

After  many  years  had  passed   away  and  his 


JUDGE   STORY'S   ILLNESS  AND  DEATH.        79 

own  hair  has  turned  quite  gray,  when  touching 
upon  this  great  loss,  his  fine  blue  eyes  were 
dimmed  with  the  mists  of  tender  and  loving  rec- 
ollections, and  emotion  made  it  difficult,  although 
he  had  a  genius  for  easy  speech,  to  utter  a  single 
word. 

The  following  incident,  quoted  from  "  The  Life 
and  Letters  "  of  Judge  Story,  had  a  marked  bear- 
ing upon  the  future  life  of  his  son: 

"The  trustees  of  the  cemetery  of  Mount  Au- 
burn, at  a  meeting  immediately  after  his  death, 
anxious  that  some  suitable  memorial  of  him 
should  be  placed  in  that  spot,  for  the  improve- 
ment of  which  he  had  so  earnestly  labored,  voted 
'  to  offer  to  the  friends  and  fellow-citizens  of 
the  deceased  a  place  in  the  new  chapel,  now 
in  the  progress  of  erection  in  Mount  Auburn, 
for  the  reception  of  a  marble  statue  of  Joseph 
Story,  when  such  a  work  worthy  of  the  character 
of  the  original  shall  have  been  completed  through 
the  contributions  of  the  public'  In  consequence 
of  this  vote  a  sum  of  money  was  raised  by  the 
contributions  of  gentlemen  in  Boston  for  the  pur- 
pose of  erecting  a  statue,  and  the  committee  to 
whom  the  nomination  of  the  sculptor  was  given 
did  me  the  honor  to  entrust  it  to  my  hands." 

Prior  to  this  time  Mr.  Story  had  used  his  chisel 
as  an  amateur  only,  and  before  accepting  so  seri- 
ous a  public  trust  he  made  it  a  condition  that  he 


8o  REMINISCENCES  OP  W.  W.  STORY. 

might  first  qualify  himself  for  its  successful  exe- 
cution by  studying  the  great  works  of  art  abroad. 
For  this  purpose  he  went  to  Paris  and  Florence. 

The  following  is  a  copy  of  the  votes  passed 
upon  the  occasion  of  the  acceptation  of  this  statue 
in  1855: 

"At  the  meeting  of  the  trustees  of  Mount 
Auburn  Cemetery,  holden  June  1,  1855,  at  the 
Boston  Athenaeum,  at  which  the  whole  board 
were  present  —  unanimously 

"Voted,  That  the  trustees,  on  receiving  the 
marble  statue  of  the  late  Judge  Story,  executed 
by  his  son,  William  W.  Story,  Esq.,  feel  unqualified 
satisfaction  in  the  successful  result  of  the  work. 

"  Voted,  That  they  recognize  in  this  statue  an 
exact  and  living  likeness  of  its  distinguished 
original;  a  just  conception  and  appropriate  ex- 
pression of  character;  a  graceful  arrangement  of 
accessories,  and  a  truthful  and  lifelike  embodi- 
ment of  what  marble  can  give  successfully  to 
commemorate  the  dead. 

"Voted,  That  this  statue  be,  and  hereby  is, 
accepted  by  the  trustees,  and  that  the  committee, 
in  relation  to  the  same,  be  authorized  to  draw 
upon  the  treasurer  for  the  amount  of  the  contract 
price. 

"Jacob  Bigelow,  President. 

"Austin  J.  Coolidge,  Secretary." 


XI. 

Publication  of  First  Volume  of   Poems  ey  W. 
W.   Story.       Boston:      Charles    C.   Little 

and  James  Brown. 

(1847.) 

These  poems,  "  Inscribed  to  my  friend,  George 
S.  Hilliard,"  Esq.,"  include  miscellaneous  poems, 
sonnets,  and  translations. 

From  the  preface  these  few  sentences  are 
taken: 

"The  following-  poems  were  written  during 
some  of  those  leisure  hours  which  fall  to  the  lot  of 
every  man.  Many  of  them  are  historically  false, 
the  moment's  feeling  having  sometimes  strung 
itself  on  some  mere  cobweb  of  fancy.  But  I  am 
sure  they  are  all  spiritually  true — true  to  the  mood 
in  which  they  were  written,  and  to  the  thought 
which  they  express.  .  .  .  Whatever  is  true  in 
them  will  live,  and  whatever  is  false  in  them  will 
die  of  itself." 

It  has  already  been  said  that  Mr.  Story,  when 
a  quite  young  man,  "  was  regarded  as  a  good  deal 
of  a  flirt."  He  was,  it  seems,  engaged  to  a  young 
lady  whom  he  did  not  marry,  and  about  whom  his 
poem,    "The    Mistake,"    was  written.     He    says 

6  (81) 


82  REMINISCENCES  OF  W.  W.  STORY. 

therein:  "With  a  ring  of  smoke  we  wedded," 
and  it  is  true  that  once  when  smoking  in  her  pres- 
ence he  wound  a  wreath  round  her  finger  and 
called  it  their  wedding  ring.  Some  stanzas  from 
this  poem  will  speak  for  themselves: 

THE  MISTAKE. 

Discontented,  listless,  weary, 

All  my  habits  burden  me, 
Comes  a  feeling  sad  and  dreary, 

Linked  with  fleeting  thoughts  of  thee. 

Love  alone  can  soothe  this  sadness. 

Love  —  I  can  not  speak  the  word  — 
But  the  leaves  of  dead  emotions 

In  my  memory  are  stirred. 

Bursts  of  passion  —  resolutions 
Shaped  and  shattered  in  an  hour 

When  the  strengthening  soul  was  wrestling 
With  its  newly  wakened  power  — 

When  thou  earnest  like  a  vision  — 

Nurtured  under  southern  skies, 
Young  in  years,  but  ripe  in  passion, 

With  thy  dark  and  lustrous  eyes  — 

'Twas  a  dreamer's  summer  palace 
Built  upon  the  shifting  sand — 
Not  a  home,  by  judgment  raftered, 
In  our  actual  life  to  stand. 

Weak  mistake  !  no  after  meeting 
Could  be,  with  the  heart  of  friends, 

For  the  wild  rapt  sense  of  loving, 
Friendship  makes  but  poor  amends. 


POEMS  BY  W.  W.  STORY.  83 

With  a  ring  of  smoke  we  wedded, 

And  beheld  Love's  vision  wane, 
As  the  splendid  frost-work  melteth, 

When  the  sunbeams  warm  the  pane. 

Yes  !  the  very  deeps  of  being 

By  the  touch  of  Love  are  moved; 

Unto  him  the  best  experience 
Never  came  who  never  loved. 

Never  comes  thy  smile  of  sweetness, 

But  that  brief  and  golden  dream 
Flushes  through  my  sleeping  memory 

Like  the  sunset  in  a  stream. 

Madame  M of   Philadelphia  says   of   Mr. 

Story: 

"  I  did  not  know  him  in  his  Salem  days — it  was 
only  in  his  college  life  that  I  knew  him  first. 
Then  he  was  most  attractive;  he  and  his  college 
friends,  James  Lowell,  Nathan  Hale,  William 
White,  and  John  King,  were  all  intimate  at  our 
house.  William's  music  was  a  great  charm,  and 
he  was  ever  a  most  agreeable  and  lovely  character. 
I  was  sick  a  great  deal  of  the  time,  and  he  was  so 
kind  to  me  that  when  he  became  engaged  to  my 
dear  sister  I  was  delighted,  and  my  happiness  was 
next  to  their  own.  He  was  very  gay  and  lively, 
and  his  conversation  was  at  all  times  brilliant.  I 
knew  him  very  intimately,  and  it  is  my  dear  recol- 
lection of  him  that  makes  me  wish  I  could  tell  all 
of  his  life  when  young." 

That  Mr.  Story  followed  the  law  out  of  respect 


84  REMINISCENCES  OF  W.  W.  STORY. 

to  his  father's  wishes  is  a  well-known  fact;  that  he 
did  so  cheerfully  is  to  be  inferred  from  some  lines 
written  about  the  time  of  his  entering  upon  that 
profession;  they  are  taken  from  his  sonnet  called 

RESPECTABILITY. 

Till  Goodness  is  delight,  the  open  day 
Of  Virtue  hath  not  shone  upon  our  way, 
For  they  who  do  their  duty  are  not  best, 
But  they  who  love  it  most  are  truly  blest. 

And  yet  these  days  of  Blackstone  and  law  re- 
ports were  filled  with  dreams  of  art-life  which  had 
their  expression  in  his  poem  entitled 

SHADOWS. 

The  trees  and  the  clouds  in  the  dreamy  river 

Transfigured  lie; 
And  the  shadows  of  things  are  sweeter  ever 

Than  their  reality. 

The  two  last  lines  were  his  philosophical  con- 
solation, but  that  he  always  hoped  for  realization 
is  clearly  indicated  by  a  sonnet  written  in  1840 
and  published  in  the  volume  of  poems  of  1847: 

Ah!  never  is  the  path  of  life  so  dreary 
As  to  be  left  without  the  lamp  of  Hope! 

For  always  to  the  wanderer,  sad  and  weary, 
Some  unseen  joy  its  door  is  sure  to  ope. 

Adown  Life's  slope,  as  time's  chariot  steals, 

A  silver  spoke  still  glitters  in  its  wheels. 


XII. 


Birth  of  their  Son,  Joseph  Story.  Death  of 
Mr.  Story's  Sister,  Mary  Story-Curtis. 
Preparations  for   Europe. 

(1847 -1848.) 

On  May  3,  1847,  a  son  was  born  to  William 
Story  and  his  wife.  They  named  him  for  his  dis- 
tinguished grandfather,  Joseph  Story.  On  April 
28th,  Mr.  Story  lost  his  only  remaining  sister, 
Mary,  the  wife  of  Mr.  George  Ticknor  Curtis. 

And  now  came  the  struggle  against  family  and 
friendly  advice,  against  general  opinion  and  long 
associations,  in  the  consideration  of  leaving  an 
established  and  remunerative  practice  in  the  legal 
profession  for  the  new  ways  and  uncertain  means 
of  an  artistic  career. 

Miss  Starr,  in  her  "  Lecture  upon  William  W. 
Story,"  says:  "The  giving  up  of  his  profession, 
however,  was  far  from  meeting  the  approbation 
of  his  mother,  who  exclaimed,  when  he  announced 
his  intention  to  her,  'William,  you  are  a  fool!' 
We  seem  to  be  introduced  to  a  sculptor  springing 
as  suddenly  into  existence  as  a  Minerva  from  the 

(8s) 


S6  REMINISCENCES  OF  W.  W.  STORY. 

head  of  a  Jupiter."     But  Miss  Starr  adds  of  his 
mother  that  "  she  lived  to  see  his  success." 

Against  this  strong-  tide  of  serious  New  Eng- 
land's most  practical  views  of  life,  his  artist-heart 
cried  out  these  lines  in  answer  to  their  question, 
"  Of  what  use  is  Art?" 

O  wretched  ye!  who  would  abjure  the  light, 
Whose  faith  is  bounded  by  the  touch  and  sight, 
Whose  utmost  wealth  by  numbers  can  be  told, 
Whose  music  is  the  jingling  of  your  gold. 

At  twenty-nine  years  of  age  Mr.  Story's  experi- 
ences had  been  such  as  to  preclude  all  romantic 
expectations  of  easy  fame  and  fortune  to  be  won 
in  the  field  of  art.  He  realized  that  the  paths 
leading  to  success  in  art  are  not  strewn  with 
roses;  and  that  such  roses  as  do  bloom  along 
them,  though  beautiful,  bear  their  thorns  for  the 
unwary,  their  fragrance  and  beauty  only  for  the 
laborers  in  art's  fields.     But  he  wrote: 

No  time  can  ever  be  too  late  for  him 
Whose  will  is  firm,  whose  trust  is  never  dim; 

and  so  he  went  forth  strong  and  full  of  faith  in 
his  cause,  willing  to  labor  and  to  wait.  To  his 
wife  is  due  the  fullest  meed  of  praise  for  ventur- 
ing with  her  two  little  children  upon  the  long 
ways  of  travel  by  sea  and  land  in  those  crude 
days  of  sailing  vessels  and  carriages.  Of  this 
brave  woman  it  has  been  said: 


PREPARATIONS    FOR   EUROPE.  87 

"  It  was  the  hope-inspiring  confidence  of  his 
wife  which  encouraged  Mr.  Story  to  persevere  in 
a  profession  which  was  almost  new  to  him.  She 
had  a  practical  side  which  supplemented  the  stu- 
dious bent  of  the  sculptor.  She  understood  the 
art  of  winning  the  sympathies  of  her  visitors 
who,  thereupon,  had  an  opportunity  to  study  her 
husband's  talent.  She  was  his  critic.  No  wonder 
he  called  her  '  My  light,  my  love,  my  life.'  " 

Mrs.  Lew  Wallace  has  said  in  her  "  Memory," 
"  No  married  life  was  ever  happier  than  that  of 
the  poet-sculptor  of  whom  I  write." 

Thus,  in  1848,  they  went  across  the  seas 
together,  that  he  might  try  his  fortune  at  the 
fountain-head  of  art. 


XIII. 

Mr.  and  Mrs.  Browning. 
(1848- 1849.) 

Miss  Margaret  Fuller,  in  a  letter  to  Mrs.  Story- 
dated  January  9,  1848,  expresses  her  pleasure  at 
their  having  already  met  the  Brownings.  To  this 
event  Sharp's  "  Life  of  Robert  Browning  "  refers 
as  follows: 

"  He  had  been  called  upon  by  Browning,  and 
by  him  invited  to  take  tea  at  Casa  Guidi  the  same 
evening.  There  he  saw,  seated  at  the  tea-table  of 
the  great  room  of  the  palace,  a  very  small,  slight 
woman,  with  long  curls  drooping  forward  almost 
across  the  eyes  and  quite  concealing  the  pale, 
small  face,  from  which  the  piercing,  inquiring  eyes 
looked  out  sensitively  at  the  stranger.  Rising 
from  her  chair,  she  put  out  cordially  the  thin 
white  hand  of  an  invalid,  and  in  a  few  moments 
they  were  pleasantly  chatting,  while  the  husband 
strode  up  and  down  the  room,  joining  in  the  con- 
versation with  vigor,  humor,  eagerness,  and  af- 
fluence of  curious  lore,  which  made  him  one  of 
the  most  charming  and  inspiring  of  companions!  " 

(88) 


MR.  AND   MRS.  BROWNING.  89 

In  the  autumn  Mr.  Story  went  with  the  Brownings 
to  Vallombrosa. 

Mrs.  Orr  says  Mr.  Browning  never  received 
instruction  in  painting,  "  though  he  modeled  under 
the  direction  of  his  friend,  Mr.  Story." 

It  is  said  that  during  the  period  of  Robert 
Browning's  most  glorious  work  he  made  no  figure 
in  English  literature,  but  was  at  once  welcomed 
and  recognized  by  Americans.  His  love  of  genius 
was  worship.  Sharp's  "  Life  of  Robert  Browning  " 
says: 

"  Summers  and  winters  were  passed  happily  in 
Italy  with  the  companionship  of  Nathaniel  Haw- 
thorne and  his  family,  or  of  weeks  at  Siena  with 
his  valued  and  lifelong  friends,  W.  W.  Story,  the 
poet-sculptor,  and  his  wife.  It  is,  strangely 
enough,  from  Americans  that  we  have  the  best 
account  of  the  Brownings  in  their  life  at  Casa 
Guidi. 

"  Those  who  have  known  Casa  Guidi  as  it  was 
could  hardly  enter  the  loved  rooms  now  and 
speak  above  a  whisper.  Those  who  have  been  so 
favored  can  never  forget  the  square  ante-room, 
with  its  great  pictures  and  pianoforte;  the  little 
dining-room  covered  with  tapestry,  and  where 
hung  medallions  of  Tennyson,  Carlyle,  and 
Robert  Browning;  the  living-room  filled  with 
plaster  casts  and  studies,  which  was  Mrs. 
Browning's  retreat;  and,  dearest  of  all,  the  large 


90  REMINISCENCES  OF  W.  W.  STORY. 

drawing-room  where  she  always  sat.  There  was 
something  about  this  room  that  seemed  to  make 
it  a  proper  and  especial  haunt  for  poets.  The 
dark  shadows  and  subdued  light  gave  it  a  dreary- 
look,  which  was  enhanced  by  the  tapestry-lined 
walls  and  the  old  pictures  of  saints  that  looked 
out  sadly  from  their  carved  frames  of  black 
wood.  Large  bookcases  were  brimming  over 
with  wise-looking  books;  Dante's  grave  profile,  a 
cast  of  Keat's  face  and  brow  taken  after  death, 
a  pen-and-ink  sketch  of  Tennyson,  little  paint- 
ings of  the  boy  Browning,  all  attracted  the  eye  in 
turn  and  gave  rise  to  a  thousand  musings.  .  .  . 
But  the  glory  of  all,  and  that  which  sanctified  all, 
was  seated  in  a  low  arm-chair  near  the  door.  A 
small  table,  strewn  with  writing  materials,  books, 
and  newspapers,  was  always  by  her  side.  .  .  . 
The  low  arm-chair  and  small  table  are  in  Brown- 
ing's study  with   his  father's  desk,  on  which  he 

has  written  all  his  poems. 

"  W.  W.  Story." 

Below  are  quoted  some  lines  of    Mr.  Story's 
referring  to  Mr.  Browning's  sorrowful  loss: 

Round  every  heart  some  happy  memory  clings, 
Some  winds  steal  music  from  the  slackest  strings; 
The  coldest  heart  at  moments  must  aspire, 
The  stoniest  sense  hath  hidden  sparks  of  fire. 
Whate'er  we  do  is  less  than  what  we  are, 
Where'er  we  move  the  horizon  is  far. 


MR.  AND   MRS.  BROWNING.  91 

All  that  we  ever  did  were  but  as  dust 

Without  these  simple  words  —  hope,  love,  and  trust. 

Knit  thus  together  by  a  secret  bond, 

The  spirit  and  nature  must  respond, 

For  some  strange  spell  unites  them  at  our  birth, 

And  shapes  us  half  of  heaven  and  half  of  earth. 

All,  from  the  starry  sky  unto  the  clod, 

Shall  whisper  of  the  universal  God. 


XIV. 

Margaret  Fuller  Ossoli. 
(1848-1849.) 

In  Colonel  Higginson's  "  Margaret  Fuller  Os- 
soli" is  found  the  history  of  the  intimate  and 
beautiful  association  between  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Story 
and  herself;  how  she  made  them  her  confidants 
in  the  trials  and  struggles  of  her  brave  life,  and, 
finally,  in  the  romance  which  ended  in  the  dawn 
of  a  great  love,  and  a  shipwreck.  She  writes  to 
her  mother  from  Rome,  November  10,  1848,  in 
these  words:  "  Many  Americans  have  shown  me 
great  and  thoughtful  kindness,  and  none  more  so 
than  William  Story  and  his  wife." 

A  letter  from  Miss  Fuller  to  Mrs.  Story,  in 
Florence,  shadows  forth  the  second  coming  of 
Mr.  Story  and  his  little  family  to  Rome.  This 
letter  is  dated,  and,  in  brief,  reads  thus: 

"  Rome,  January  9,  1848. 
"  My  Dear  Emelyn:     I  was  quite  disappointed 
by  the  reading  of  your  letter,  though  I  wrote  you 
as  well  as  I  could  both  pros  and  cons.    I  had  hoped 

(92) 


MARGARET  FULLER  OSSOLI.  93 

very  much  you  would  come,  and  still  hope  your 
doubts  will  end. 

"  Mr.  Wetmore  says  he  shall  persist  in  asking 
you  to  come.  I  have  been  to  look  at  Poussin's 
house  for  you,  and  also  the  Casa  del  Scimia  (the 
house  of  the  monkey)  in  Quattro  Fontane;  it  is 
large  and  sunny,  with  a  beautiful  salon,  large  bed- 
rooms, a  good  dining-room,  abundant  linen  and 
table  service,  and  the  entrance  fine.  The  back 
windows  look  on  the  Barberini  gardens,  and  they 
have  a  garden  of  their  own.  I  like  the  '  Monkey 
House'  better;  then,  for  me,  I  like  the  name;  it 
presents  a  refreshing  contrast  to  the  glories  and 
classicalities  so  eternal  in  Eternal  Rome. 

"  I  flatter  myself  that  when  this  arrives  William 
will  have  finished  his  model  (he  is  not  firm  of 
health  to  stay  in  a  studio  as  damp  as  you 
described),  the  fit  of  content  with  Florence  gone 
off  —  for  to  my  mind  it  is  only  a  paroxysm  —  and 
the  trunks  packed  for  here.  Come  on  at  once  if 
you  can.     .     .     . 

"  I  have  a  letter  from  Mrs.  Browning  in  which 
she  expresses  their  pleasure  in  making  your 
acquaintance.  I  am  very  glad  for  you  both. 
Since  I  can  not  see  them  now,  I  want  some  of 
their  thoughts,  and,  think  you,  would  they  not  be 
so  cordial  as  to  lend  me  '  Bells  and  Pomegranates '  ? 
.  .  .  I  am  not  surprised  at  what  you  say  of 
Keats — I  always  thought,  with  Byron, 


94  REMINISCENCES  OF  W.  W.  STORY. 

"  Strange  that  the  mind,  that  very  fiery  particle, 
Could  let  itself  be  snuffed  out  by  an  article. 

A —  P — ,  dwelling  in  a  trance  on  a  private  letter 
of  Keats',  was  much  distressed  at  finding  a  degree 
of  selfishness  unworthy  of  his  genius. 

"  I  would  be  glad  for  William  to  call  with  the 
inclosed  letter  on  Madame  Arcerati.  He  will 
thus,  if  she  is  at  home,  see  one  who  is  considered 
by  many  the  most  distinguished  woman  in  Italy, 
and  who  would  be  distinguished  where  there  was 
a  far  greater  number  of  worthy  competitors.  .  .  . 
"  Affectionately  your  friend, 

"  Margaret." 

This  letter  of  Miss  Fuller's  was  inclosed  in 
another  to  Mrs.  Story  from  Mr.  John  Wetmore,  an 
uncle  of  her  husband's.  His  letter  was  addressed 
to  "  Madame  W.  W.  Story,  Via  della  Scala,  Flor- 
ence," where  Mr.  Story  was  located  at  this  time. 
This  street  runs  from  the  Piazza  Santa  Maria 
Novella  to  the  Porta  del  Prato  (door  of  the  mead- 
ow), passing  the  Oricellari  Gardens,  teeming  with 
pleasant  nooks  and  recalling  some  rare  phases  of 
Florentine  history.  The  street  itself  is  fairly  wide, 
as  the  Old-World  streets  go,  but  the  walls  are  high, 
and  it  is  safe  to  say  it  had  all  the  dampness  with 
which  it  was  credited.  "  Casa  Guidi,"  the  home 
of  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Browning,  whom  they  had  so 
recently  met,  was  not  far  off,  across  the  Arno  in 


MARGARET   FULLER  OSSOLI.  95 

the  Via  Maggio,  under  the  shadows  of  the  Pitti 
Palace. 

It  can  be  easily  understood,  with  their  environ- 
ments of  art,  place,  and  friendships,  how  loth  they 
were  to  leave  fair  Florence.  It  seemed  to  them, 
as  to  Mrs.  Browning,  "Love,  Life,  and  Italy"; 
and  yet  it  was  not  Rome. 

An  extract  from  a  letter  of  Miss  Fuller's  to  her 
brother,  dated  "Rome,  May  22,  1849,"  says: 

"  I  am  with  William  Story  and  his  wife  and 
uncle.  Very  kind  friends  they  have  been  in  this 
strait.  They  are  going  away  so  soon  as  they 
can  find  horses — going  into  Germany.  I  remain 
alone  in  the  house  under  our  flag,  almost  the  only 
American  except  the  consul  and  ambassador. 

"Margaret." 

It  is  thus  evident  that  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Story  were 
in  Rome  at  this  date,  and  these  letters  show  the 
spirit  and  courage  with  which  they  met  and  en- 
dured such  hardships  as  the  Old  World  imposed  in 
those  times,  when  the  journey  from  Florence  to 
Rome  was  one  of  days,  not  of  hours,  as  now,  and 
that  to  Germany  meant  many  days;  they  also 
show  the  beginnings  of  an  unusual  social  and 
artistic  success.  Mr.  Story  had  "  the  gentle  art  of 
making  friends,"  and  what  is  better,  the  common- 
sense  that  keeps  them;  in  both  making  and  keep- 


96  REMINISCENCES  OF  W.  W.  STORY. 

ing  them  Mrs.  Story  was  his  valued  aid.  The 
prestige  of  his  father's  name  had  its  full  weight, 
but  within  himself  was  that  "  sixth  sense,"  as  he 
called  it,  that  subtle  power  of  intuition  which 
made  all  who  came  into  his  presence  feel  them- 
selves understood. 


Palazzo  Barberini,  Rome. 


XV. 

Palazzo  Barberini  —  Its  Associations. 
(1849-1850.) 

In  Rome  we  hear  of  the  Storys,  at  first,  as  being- 
domiciled  in  the  Piazza  di  Spagna,  and  shortly 
afterward  within  the  gates  and  walls  of  the  Pal- 
azzo Barberini,  with  its  delightful  gardens  of  palm 
trees,  flowers,  and  fountains,  presided  over  by  the 
statue  of  Thorwaldsen. 

Entering  at  the  left  and  going  up  the  winding 
stone  stairway,  passing  niched  statues  and  the  old 
lion  relief  on  the  landings,  the  visitor  found  a 
modest  doorway  with  the  name  "W.  W.  Story" 
inscribed  thereon.  Across  this  threshold  lived 
the  artist  for  forty-five  years.  Here  he  bravely 
struggled  through  defeats,  and  here  he  rejoiced  in 
many  triumphs. 

Some  scenes  of  this  home-life  may  bring  the 
charming  personality  of  the  sculptor  nearer  to 
our  hearts  and  minds,  enabling  us  to  see  how  his 
broad,  beautiful  existence  was  rounded  and  influ- 
enced by  these  congenial  surroundings. 

In  his  home  he  gathered  the  treasures  of  friend- 
7  (97) 


98  REMINISCENCES  OP  W.  W.  STORY. 

ship  and  art.  With  his  wife's  tasteful  aid  it  was 
adorned  in  the  most  attractive  manner.  A  friend 
thus  graphically  describes  it:  "It  is  original;  some 
portions  resemble  an  oriental  bazaar,  while  others 
are  so  classical  that  one  would  imagine  himself  in 
the  atrium  of  a  Roman  patrician.  Through  it  are 
noticed  a  sculptor's  conceptions  in  marble,  besides 
the  marks  of  a  literary  man;  works  of  art,  bric-a- 
brac,  and  trophies  of  travel  in  all 'parts  of  the 
world.  One  of  the  chiefest  pleasures  in  receiving 
an  invitation  to  the  Story  home  was  the  opportu- 
nity it  afforded  of  drinking  in  this  atmosphere  of 
beauty  and  artistic  taste." 

Mr.  Story  had  one  of  the  largest  rooms  made 
into  a  theater,  fitted  up  with  a  stage,  drop  curtain, 
footlights,  and  scenery.  We  are  told  that  Mrs. 
Story  made  an  excellent  stage  manager,  director, 
and  prompter;  that  Mr.  Story  was  an  actor  of 
merit  beyond  the  amateur.  English,  Italian,  and 
French  were  the  languages  of  the  performances 
which  took  place  in  this  little  theater.  Here 
many  musical  compositions  were  first  heard  by 
the  public,  and  many  little  theatrical  pieces 
first  submitted  to  its  approval.  Among  the 
latter  was  a  play  of  Sir  Edmund  Mallet's,  "  The 
Ordeal,"  performed  when  the  ambassador  was 
an  attache  to  the  British  embassy,  and  in  which 
the  author  himself  took  a  part.  Here  have 
been  read  aloud  to  sympathizing  listeners,  both 


Theater  Room,  Palazzo  Barberini. 


PALAZZO   BARBERINI.  99 

before  and  after  publication,  many  of  the  host's 
own  poems;  his  original  plays  also  were  some- 
times tried  on  this  stage  before  appearing  in 
print. 

In  later  days  this  long  suite  of  beautiful  rooms 
constituted  a  congenial  neutral  ground  where  the 
Romans  themselves  could  forget  the  dissensions 
that  ordinarily  separated  the  adherents  of  the 
Vatican  from  those  of  the  Quirinal.  Political  or 
religious  differences  were  forgotten  or  ignored  the 
moment  one  crossed  this  threshold  and  encoun- 
tered the  courteous  and  amiable  host  passing 
from  guest  to  guest,  giving  as  a  hearty  welcome 
to  the  papal  "  Blacks  "  as  to  the  royal  "  Whites," 
and  imparting  an  atmosphere  of  cordiality  in  a 
laughing,  merry  fashion  that  caused  him  to  be 
called  "  //  simpatico  Americano."  The  admiration 
and  fondness  of  so  many  different  elements  of 
society  for  the  artist  tended  to  make  his  large 
drawing-room  a  place  where  Protestant  clergy- 
men residing  in  the  Italian  capital  might  meet 
with  eminent  prelates  of  the  Roman  Church. 
The  venerable  Cardinal  Giuseppi  Pecci,  an  elder 
brother  of  Leo  XIII,  who  resided  on  the  lower 
floor  of  the  Palazzo  Barberini,  gave  the  example 
for  the  other  ecclesiastics  in  his  regard  for  his 
distinguished  American  neighbor,  and  among  the 
diplomats  having  official  residence  at  Rome, 
whether  accredited  to  the  Court  or  to  the  Holy 


ioo         REMINISCENCES  OF  W.  W.  STORY. 

See,  the  home  of  the  Storys  was  a  favorite  place 
for  general  reunion. 

Several  men  who  afterward  became  Presidents 
of  the  United  States  were  entertained  there. 
When  General  Grant  visited  Rome  on  his  journey 
around  the  world,  a  memorable  company  of 
illustrious  men  assembled  to  meet  him  in  Mr. 
Story's  home.  Prime  ministers  of  England  have 
been  his  guests  at  various  times,  and  many  whose 
names  will  be  historical  for  all  time,  in  different 
countries  of  Europe,  met  frequently  at  Mrs. 
Story's  receptions.  Robert  Browning  and  his 
gifted  wife  were  often  visitors  in  this  home. 
Severn,  Leigh  Hunt,  Landor,  Tennyson,  Haw- 
thorne, and  hosts  of  others  whose  names  are 
household  words  were  familiar  spirits  here. 

And  now  a  word  regarding  the  little  ones  of 
this  happy  household.  A  friend  says:  "  Mrs. 
Story,  as  an  American  lady  abroad,  took  special 
pains  with  her  children.  Only  those  who  have 
lived  on  the  Continent  can  appreciate  this  respon- 
sibility. The  task  of  the  mother  is  most  difficult. 
What  is  not  supplied  in  the  school-room,  and  that 
means  the  principal  part  of  education,  must  be 
made  up  at  home.  After  they  lost  their  little 
'Joe-Joe'  in  1853,  two  more  sons  were  born  to 
them,  Waldo  and  Julian,  and  they,  with  their 
sister  Edith,  made  a  merry  household.  Many 
were   the   frolics  and  gay  doings  of  these  little 


PALAZZO   BARBERINI.  101 

folk,  Mr.  Story  often  writing  verse  after  verse 
amid  their  wildest  pranks,  and  frequently  joining 
in  their  sport." 

Among  the  most  interesting  of  the  friendships 
that  began  here  was  that  of  William  Makepeace 
Thackeray.  A  friend  says:  "  It  was  a  good  many 
years  ago,  but  the  lapse  of  time  has  not  effaced 
the  memory  of  his  visit.  When  he  was  not 
engaged  in  his  own  literary  work,  or  occupied 
with  the  father  and  mother,  he  was  ever  ready 
with  his  kindly  look  to  surprise  the  eager  imagina- 
tions of  the  little  Storys  —  for  they,  too,  had  their 
share  in  everybody's  pleasure,  and  made  him  their 
own  particular  story-teller.  What  made  them 
gather  round  him  for  a  purpose  even  more  enter- 
taining than  this  was  his  readiness  to  make  pic- 
tures  for  them.  This  was  second  nature  to  him. 
Fly-leaves  of  books,  scraps  of  paper,  in  fact  all 
things  brought  to  him  were  turned  immediately, 
to  the  children's  delight,  into  miniature  picture 
galleries.  '  The  Rose  and  the  Ring,  a  Fireside 
Pantomime  for  Great  and  Small  Children,'  was  said 
to  have  been  written  by  Thackeray  for  Mr.  Story's 
little  daughter  Edith  and  read  to  her  chapter  by 
chapter." 

Other  great  men  have  been  entertained  by  the 
Storys,  but  none,  perhaps,  ever  entered  into  their 
sympathies  more  than  did  this  warm-hearted  and 
honored  friend. 


102         REMINISCENCES  OF  W.  W.  STORY. 


u 


A  Memory "  of  Mr.  Story,  by  Mrs.  Lew 
Wallace,  tells  us  that  "  at  his  table  Margaret 
Fuller  led  her  hearers  captive.  There  Hawthorne 
—  poet,  though  he  made  no  rhymes  —  was  be- 
guiled into  society." 

Later  on,  Miss  Harriet  Hosmer  lived  in  the 
Hotel  d'ltalia,  in  "  a  cozy  little  room  which  gave 
a  glimpse  of  the  blue  Italian  sky  and  overlooked 
the  Barberini  Gardens."  Miss  Hosmer  had 
selected  this  room  because  it  made  her  feel  close 
to  her  dear  friends,  the  Storys,  whose  home  was  a 
second  home  to  her,  and  where  she  was  one  of  the 
most  privileged  guests  admitted  to  their  private 
parlor  —  or  their  boudoir  rather  —  which  they 
called  "  Little  Bohemia." 


Red  Drawing  Room,  Palazzo  Barberini. 


XVI. 

The  Sculptor's  First  and  Second  Studios 

in  Rome. 

(1851.) 

Let  us  turn  from  these  charming  scenes  of 
his  home-life  to  the  sculptor's  work-a-day  world, 
his  studio,  where  the  idealizations  of  his  heart 
and  brain  were  materialized  into  bronze  and 
marble. 

Mr.  Story's  first  studio  in  Rome  was  located 
on  the  Via  Sistina,  which  runs  from  the  Piazza 
Barberini  to  San  Trinita  di  Monti,  giving  from 
the  head  of  the  Spanish  Steps  a  view  of  the 
whole  Leonine  City,  crowned  by  St.  Peter's  itself. 
He  did  not  long  remain  there,  but  removed  to 
Via  San  Nicolo  di  Tolentino,  which  opened  from 
the  Piazza  Barberini  through  the  new  quarters 
of  Rome. 

It  was  in  the  Tolentino  studio  that  Hawthorne 
knew  and  visited  him,  the  two  chatting  away 
many  an  hour  together,  Mr.  Story  almost  always 
working  at  the  same  time.  Hawthorne's  descrip- 
tion of  Kenyon's  studio  in  "  The  Marble  Faun  " 

(103) 


104         REMINISCENCES  OF  W.  W.  STORY. 

is  taken  from  this  one  of   Mr.  Story's.      It  is  as 
follows: 

"  The  studio  of  a  sculptor  is  generally  a  dreary 
looking-  place,  with  a  good  deal  of  the  aspect, 
indeed,  of  a  stonemason's  workshop.  Bare  floors 
of  brick  or  plank  and  plastered  walls,  an  old  chair 
or  two,  or  perhaps  only  a  block  of  marble  (con- 
taining, however,  the  possibility  within  it)  to  sit 
down  upon,  some  hastily  scrambled  sketches  of 
nude  figures  on  the  whitewash  of  the  wall;  these 
last  are  probably  the  sculptor's  earliest  glimpse 
of  ideas  that  may  hereafter  be  solidified  into 
imperishable  stone,  or  perhaps  may  remain  as 
impalpable  as  a  dream.  Next  there  are  a  few 
very  roughly  modeled  little  figures  in  clay  or 
plaster,  exhibiting  the  second  stage  of  the  idea 
as  it  advances  toward  a  marble  immortality;  and 
then  is  seen  the  exquisitely  designed  shape  of 
clay,  more  interesting  than  even  the  final  marble 
as  being  the  intimate  production  of  the  sculptor 
himself,  modeled  throughout  with  his  loving 
hands,  and  nearest  to  his  imagination  and  heart. 
In  the  plaster-cast  from  this  clay  model,  the 
beauty  of  the  statue  strangely  disappears,  to 
shine  forth  again  with  pure  white  radiance  in  the 
precious  marble  of  Carrara.  Works  in  all  these 
stages  of  advancement  might  be  found  in  Ken- 
yon's  studio." 

Success  was  not  long  deferred.     Pius  IX,  one 


THE  SCULPTOR'S  STUDIOS  IN   ROME.      105 

of  his  earliest  patrons,  by  generously  sending,  at 
his  own  expense,  the  sculptor's  works  to  the 
London  Exposition  of  1862,  opened  the  way  that 
led  to  the  artistic  and  substantial  recognition  there 
accorded  to  Mr.  Story.  As  this  liberal  grace  came 
in  a  moment  of  supreme  disheartenment,  the  re- 
membrance of  it  was  cherished  by  the  recipient 
all  his  life,  with  the  deepest  appreciation  of,  and 
devotion  to,  Pio  Nono. 


XVII. 

Letter  of  James  R.  Lowell.     Life  and  Letters 
of  Joseph  Story. 

(1849-1852.) 

From  "  The  Letters  of  James  Russell  Lowell," 
edited  by  Charles  Eliot  Norton,  is  the  following, 
addressed  to  Story: 

"  Every  year  adds  its  value  to  a  friendship  as 
to  a  tree,  with  no  effort  and  no  merit  of  ours. 
Every  year  adds  its  compound  interest  of  associa- 
tions and  enlarges  the  circle  of  shelter  and  shade. 
It  is  good  to  plant  early;  later  friends  drink  our 
lees,  but  the  old  ones  drank  the  clear  wine  at  the 
brim  of  our  cups.  Who  knew  us  when  we  were 
witty  ?  Who  knew  us  when  we  were  wise  ?  Who 
knew  us  when  we  were  green  ?  " 

The  fullness  and  joy  of  friendship  were  perhaps 

never  experienced  in  a  more  perfect  degree  than 

by  these  two  gifted  men.      They  always  met  in 

the  spirit  of  "  when  we  were  boys  together,"  and 

at  such  times  Voltaire's  sentiment,  L 'amusement 

est  un  des  premiers  besoins  de  VJiomme,  knocked 

loudly  at  their  door,  and  found  a  welcome,  too. 

(106) 


LETTER   OF  JAMES   R.  LOWELL,  ETC.      107 

Yet  their  pleasant  ways  conformed  to  Burney's 
rules,  "The  first  consideration  of  a  legislator  is, 
that  his  amusement  should  be  innocent;  the  next, 
that  it  should  not  be  below  the  dignity  of  a 
rational  creature."  One  might  ask,  in  Mr.  Story's 
own  words  respecting  Michael  Angelo,  "  Is  it  for 
souls  like  these  to  be  moulded  by  their  age  ? " 
His  answer  is,  "No;a  higher,  nobler  task  is  theirs; 
beneath  their  plastic  fingers  that  age  shall  be  as 
wax,  as  it  is  in  the  hands  of  the  great,  forever." 

From  the  date  of  his  father's  death,  Septem- 
ber, 1845,  Mr.  Story  began  accumulating  and 
arranging  material  for  the  "  Life  and  Letters  of 
Joseph  Story."  This  work  of  two  volumes  was 
finally  published  in  Boston,  in  the  year  185 1,  by 
Charles  C.  Little  and  James  Brown. 

In  the  preface  Mr.  Story  states  that  he  wishes 
everyone  to  bear  in  mind  that  he  is  not  uninflu- 
enced by  those  personal  feelings  natural  to  the 
relationship  between  father  and  son.  He  admits 
that  "love  lends  a  precious  seeing  to  the  eye," 
and  adds,  "  I  have  followed  out  the  wishes  of  my 
father  as  expressed  in  a  letter  to  a  friend  who  had 
written  a  biography  of  his  parents.  In  this  letter 
my  father  says,  c  Such  parents  as  yours  deserve 
such  affection  and  admiration  and  reverence.  I 
know  not  what  I  should  envy  so  much,  if  envy 
could  ever  mingle  with  such  feelings,  as  to  have 
such  a  filial  tribute  in  such  a  form.'  " 


108         REMINISCENCES  OF  W.  W.  STORY. 

To  Mr.  Story  this  work  seemed  truly  a  labor  of 
love,  and  in  it  he  has  linked  together  the  fondest 
recollections  of  both  his  parents  in  its  dedication: 

"  To  my  mother,  Sarah  Waldo  Story. 

"These  memorials  of  my  father  I  dedicate  to 
you.  Of  our  home  group  that  lived  in  the  sun- 
shine of  his  familiar  presence,  you  and  I  alone  are 
left,  and  love,  gratitude,  and  the  losses  we  in 
common  have  sustained,  and  the  happy  memories 
of  the  past  which  bind  us  so  closely  together,  con- 
spire to  make  the  inscription  of  these  pages  to 
you  at  once  most  appropriate  in  itself  and  most 
grateful  to  my  feelings. 

"  Your  sympathy  has  lightened  my  labor  and 
cheered  me  in  my  progress;  and  however  others 
may  look  upon  this  work,  in  your  eyes  I  know  it 
will  seem  well  done.  To  you,  therefore,  I  bring 
it  with  the  loving  regards  of  an  affectionate  son. 

"W.  W.  Story." 

Just  what  the  public  reception  of  this  work 
was  is  best  estimated  by  press  notices  of  the  date 
of  its  publication. 

The  Edinburgh  Review  says:  "We  look  in  vain 
over  the  legal  literature  of  England  for  names  to 
put  in  comparison  with  those  of  Livingston,  Kent, 
and  Story.  After  reading  his  (Judge  Story's) 
'  Life '  and  miscellaneous  writings,  there  can  be 


Judge  Joseph  Story. 


LETTER  OF  JAMES   R.  LOWELL,  ETC.      109 

no  difficulty  in  accounting  for  his  personal  influ- 
ence and  popularity." 

From  the  Eclectic  Review  is  the  following: 
"  The  biography  before  us,  as  written  by  his  son, 
is  admirably  digested,  and  written  in  a  style 
which  sustains  the  attention  to  the  last,  and  occa- 
sionally rises  to  true  and  striking  eloquence." 

In  1852  an  enlarged  edition  of  Judge  Story's 
miscellaneous  writings  was  edited  by  his  son. 
They  were  originally  published  in  1835,  an(^  were 
dedicated  by  Judge  Story  to  his  friend,  Josiah 
Quincy,  president  of  Harvard  College. 


XVIII. 

Some  of  Story's  Work  —  "  Arcadian  Shepherd 
Boy,"  "Hero,"  and  "  Marguerite."  Death 
of  his  Mother.  Delivery  of  Judge  Story's 
Statue  to  Mount  Auburn  Trustees. 

(1852-1855.) 

"The  Arcadian  Shepherd  Boy  "  is  a  happy  ex- 
pression of  simple,  careless  youth,  with  the  curls, 
semi-nudity,  and  unconscious  grace  of  his  fair 
country.  He  is  seated  upon  the  slender  laureled 
trunk  of  a  tree,  playing-  on  his  shepherd's  pipe. 
He  seems  only  to  know  it  is  joy  to  live.  This 
statue  was  presented  to  the  Boston  Public  Library 
in  1858  by  several  gentlemen. 

At  this  period  many  ideal  works  were  born  of 
the  artist's  brain  and  chisel.  Of  "  a  small  statue 
of  '  Hero,'  torch  in  hand,  looking  for  Leander,"  the 
Spectator  of  June,  1863,  says:  "  It  is  almost  fault- 
less in  its  representations  of  anxious,  doubtful 
search.  .  .  .  The  timid,  beautiful  girl,  overmas- 
tered by  one  sentiment,  will  probably  reappear 
in  a  hundred  imitations  and  become  a  household 

form." 

(no) 


SOME   OF  STORY'S  WORK.  in 

His  "  Marguerite,"  from  Faust,  was  also  of  this 
time.  It  seems,  as  a  statue,  the  embodiment  of 
simplicity  and  innocence.  Of  such  unconscious 
attractions  Hill  has  written, 

Unaiming  charms  with  edge  resistless  fall, 
And  she  who  means  no  mischief  does  it  all. 

On  August  22,  1855,  Mr.  Story  lost  his  mother, 
Sarah  Waldo  Story.  She  died  just  a  few  months 
after  Judge  Story's  statue  found  favorable  accept- 
ance from  the  trustees  of  Mount  Auburn  Cemetery, 
having  lived  just  long  enough  to  share  in  this  suc- 
cess of  her  son.  They  laid  her  to  rest  beside  her 
illustrious  husband,  beneath  the  forest  trees  of 
old  Mount  Auburn. 

The  year  1855  saw  finished,  and  delivered  to 
the  trustees  of  Mount  Auburn  Cemetery,  the 
statue  of  Judge  Story,  of  which  the  following  is 
a  press  notice  of  that  date: 

"  The  statue  of  the  late  Judge  Story,  by  his 
son  William  W.  Story,  may  now  be  seen  by  the 
public  in  the  vestibule  of  the  Boston  Athenaeum. 
Among  those  who  have  seen  it  have  been  a  num- 
ber of  friends  and  acquaintances  of  Judge  Story, 
and  so  far  they  speak  in  the  highest  terms  of  the 
excellence  of  the  likeness,  while,  as  a  work  of  art, 
the  statue  can  not  fail  to  commend  itself  to  every 
observer.  It  is  wrought  from  a  beautiful  piece  of 
white    marble,  which,    considering     its    size,    is 


H2         REMINISCENCES  OF  W.  W.  STORY. 

singularly  free  from  blemish.  The  statue  is  in  a 
sitting  posture,  a  little  larger  than  the  size  of  life. 
The  expression  of  the  features  is  lifelike." 

In  her  lecture  upon  William  W.  Story,  March 
26,  1889,  Miss  Starr  speaks  of  her  visit  to  the 
Mount  Auburn  Chapel,  and  then  of  its  statues,  as 
follows: 

"More  attractive  than  all  of  these  was  the 
statue  of  Chief  Justice  Story,  sitting  in  his  judi- 
cial robes,  and  doubtless  with  a  certain  judicial 
look,  but  this  aspect  was  softened  by  a  benignity 
so  winning  that  one  forgot  the  Chief  Justice  in 
the  urbane  man  of  letters  and  society.  There 
was  a  lifting  up  of  all  these  qualities  which  puts 
the  statue  on  an  ideal  plane  and  proves  it  to  be 
something  more  than  a  portrait.  Yet  this  was 
not  only  the  work  of  his  son,  but  that  son's  first 
life-sized  work." 


XIX. 

Mr.  and  Mrs.  Browning.  Death  of  Their 
Little  Son,  Joseph  Story.  Poem,  "Fairy- 
land."    Birth  of  Thomas  Waldo  Story. 

(1853-1856.) 

From  Mrs.  Orr's  "  Life  and  Letters  of  Robert 
Browning  "  are  the  following  extracts  from  two 
letters,  the  first  of  which  is  dated 

"  Casa  Tolomei,  Alta  Villa,  Bagni  di  Lucca, 

' '  August  20. 

"  Our  friends,  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Story,  helped  the 
mountains  to  please  us  a  good  deal.  He  is  the 
son  of  Judge  Story,  the  biographer  of  his  father; 
himself  a  sculptor  and  poet,  and  she  a  sympa- 
thetic, graceful  woman,  fresh  and  innocent  in  face 
and  thought.  We  go  back  and  forth  to  tea,  and 
talk  at  one  another's  houses." 

Yet,  in  this  sunny  land  of  art,  olives,  and  song, 
charmed  even  with  such  friendships,  at  times  dark 
shadows  hung  over  the  hearts  of  the  sculptor  and 
his  wife,  and  one  of  these  suggested  "  a  sweet, 
sequestered  spot  in  fair  Italy  "  to  him,  in  the  fol- 
lowing lines: 

8  (113) 


ii4        REMINISCENCES  OF  W.  W.  STORY. 

There  is  a  sad,  sad  country 

Where  often  I  go  to  see 
A  little  child  that  for  all  my  love 

Will  never  come  back  to  me. 

A  most  fitting  explanation  of  this  sorrow  is 
given  in  an  extract  from  Mr.  Browning's  second 
letter,  dated 

"  Rome,  43  Via  Bocca  di  Leone,  3°  piano, 

"January  18,  1854. 

"  A  most  exquisite  journey  of  eight  days  we 
had  from  Florence  to  Rome.  .  .  .  You  remember 
my  telling  you  of  our  friends  the  Storys,  how 
they  and  their  two  children  helped  to  make  the 
summer  go  pleasantly  at  the  Baths  of  Lucca. 
They  had  taken  an  apartment  for  us  in  Rome, 
so  that  we  arrived  in  comfort  to  lighted  fires  and 
lamps,  as  if  coming  home,  and  we  had  a  glimpse 
of  their  smiling  faces  that  evening.  In  the 
morning,  before  breakfast,  little  Edith  was 
brought  over  to  us  by  the  manservant,  with 
a  message,  'the  boy  was  in  convulsions;  there 
was  danger.'  We  hurried  to  the  house,  of  course, 
leaving  Edith  with  Wilson.  Too  true!  All 
that  first  day  we  spent  beside  a  deathbed, 
for  the  child  never  rallied,  never  opened  his 
eyes  in  consciousness,  and  by  eight  in  the 
evening  he  was  gone.  In  the  meanwhile  Edith 
was  taken  ill  at  our  house,  could  not  be  moved, 
said  the  physician,  and  within  two  days  her  life 


MR.  AND   MRS.  BROWNING.  115 

was   despaired   of,  exactly  the   same  malady  as 
her  brother's. 

"  To  pass  over  the  dreary  time,  I  will  tell  you 
at  once,  in  poor  little  Edith's  case  Roman  fever 
followed  the  gastric.  She  is  very  pale  and  thin. 
Roman  fever  is  not  dangerous  to  life,  but  it  is 
exhausting.  Now  you  will  understand  what 
ghastly  flakes  of  death  have  changed  the  sense  of 
Rome  to  me.  The  first  day  by  a  deathbed,  the 
first  drive  out,  to  the  cemetery  where  poor  little 
Joe  is  laid  close  to  Shelley's  heart  {cor  cordium, 
says  the  epitaph),  and  where  the  mother  insisted 
on  going  when  she  and  I  went  out  in  the  carriage 
together.  I  am  horribly  weak  about  such  things. 
I  can't  look  on  the  earth  side  of  death.  When  I 
look  deathward,  I  look  over  death  and  upward, 
or  I  can't  look  that  way  at  all.  So  that  it  was  a 
struggle  with  me  to  sit  upright  in  that  carriage, 
in  which  the  poor  stricken  mother  sat  so  calmly, 
and  not  to  drop  from  my  seat.  .  .  .  Well,  all  this 
has  blackened  Rome  to  me.  .  .  .  Still  one  lives 
through  one's  associations  when  they  are  not  too 
strong,  and  I  have  arrived  at  almost  enjoying 
some  things,  the  climate,  for  instance.  ..." 

In  the  Protestant  cemetery  at  Rome  there  has 
been  for  many  years  a  little  grave,  now  close  com- 
pany to  those  of  his  devoted  parents.  Upon  the 
small  white  marble  headstone  are  cut  these  words: 


n6         REMINISCENCES  OF  W.  W.  STORY. 

JOSEPH   STORY, 

Only  Son  of  William  W.  and  Emelyn  Story, 

Born  May  23,  1847,  in  Boston,  U.  S.  A., 

Died  November  23,  1853,  in  Rome. 

He  was  called  Joseph  after  Judge  Story,  his 
grandfather,  but  "Joe-Joe"  was  his  baby  name, 
retained  throughout  his  six  short  years. 

While  they  "  sorrowed  not,  as  those  without 
hope,"  yet  to  the  sculptor  and  his  wife  their  little 
"Joe-Joe"  ever  seemed  a  living  and  lovely  pres- 
ence, and  something  over  a  year  after  their  loss, 
in  December,  1854,  Mr.  Story  wrote  this  poem, 
beginning 

TO  J.  S. 

There  sounds  the  drum  in  the  street, 
And  the  soldiers  are  marching  by, 

And  the  trumpet  sounds  —  but  thy  little  feet 
Are  still,  and  thy  joyous  cry 

Will  never  that  marching  greet. 

I  think  of  thee  often  as  gone 

For  only  a  summer's  day, 
In  the  earthly  gardens  laughing  to  run 

With  thy  friends  in  thy  human  play. 
I  dream  when  the  day  is  done 

I  shall  hear  thy  foot  on  the  stair, 
And  welcome  thee  back  with  thy  innocent  face, 

And  thy  frank,  pure,  noble  air, 
And  kiss  thee  again,  and  see  thee  again, 

Till  the  dream  is  like  despair. 

But  as  Mr.  Story  himself  tells  us,  elsewhere, 


MR.  AND  MRS.  BROWNING.  117 

There  is  no  ruined  life  beyond  the  smile  of  heaven. 
And  compensating  grace  for  every  loss  is  given. 

Such  compensation  must  have  come  to  the 
bereaved  parents  in  their  remaining  child,  their 
little  daughter,  Edith  Marion  Story,  whom  her 
father  has  so  daintily  described  in 

FAIRYLAND. 

When  first  into  Fairyland  I  went 

I  was  so  happy  and  so  content; 

For  a  little  fairy  carried  me  there 

Who  had  large  blue  eyes  and  golden  hair. 

'Twas  a  beautiful  wood  with  great  high  trees 
That  scattered  gold  leaves  as  they  shook  in  the  breeze, 
Where  the  oriole  flashed  and  the  blue-jay  screamed, 
And  the  trees  and  the  sky  in  the  smooth  lake  dreamed. 

There  we  played  party,  down  in  the  glen, 
And  made  believe  ladies  and  gentlemen, 
And  put  on  their  airs  and  talked  of  the  weather. 
Oh!  we  were  both  so  happy  together. 

Our  cream  and  our  sugar  were  only  pretend, 
But  we  found  wild  strawberries  there  without  end, 
And  these  on  a  great  leaf-dish  we  set, 
With  an  arum  for  pitcher,  all  dewy  wet. 

We  had  at  our  tea-parties  many  a  friend  — 

But  they,  like  the  sugar  and  cream,  were  pretend; 

So  we  made  believe  help  them,  and  pour  out  their  cup, 

And  their  berries  and  cakes  we  ourselves  ate  up. 

And  there  was  a  garden  we  dug  with  a  stick, 
And  planted  with  flower-seeds  ever  so  thick, 
And  stuck  all  the  wild  flowers  we  found  in  it,  too, 
And  dug  them  up  daily  to  see  how  they  grew. 


n8         REMINISCENCES  OF  W.  W.  STORY. 

Sometimes  both  our  children  we  hushed  into  bed, 
And  wove  wreaths  of  woodbine  to  wear  on  our  head, 
And  barberries  for  earrings  we  tied  on  with  strings, 
And  went  to  make  visits  to  queens  and  to  kings. 

Oh!  'twas  so  pleasant  there  in  the  wood; 
How  glad  I  should  be  to  go  back  if  I  could; 
But  the  fairy  returns  not  that  carried  me  there, 
And  the  place  without  her  would  be  dreary  and  bare. 

To  the  "compensating  grace"  of  this  little 
daughter,  another  was  added  to  their  lives  in  the 
birth  of  their  second  son,  Thomas  Waldo,  upon 
December  9,  1854. 


XX. 


Castle  Palo.  An  Estrangement.  In  St.  Peters. 
Italy  ane  New  England.  At  Villa  Conti. 
Prologue  on  Crawford's  Statue  of  Bee- 
thoven. 

(1856-1859.) 

POEMS     BY    WILLIAM    W.    STORY.       BOSTON:       LITTLE,    BROWN    & 

COMPANY,  1856. 

Such  is  the  title  and  date  of  the  volume  in 
which  Mr.  Story's  poems  first  appeared  in  book 
form. 

Turning  a  leaf  is  the  dedication: 

To 

James  Russell  Lowell 

This  Volume  is 

Inscribed 

In  testimony  of  a  friendship 

Which,  beginning  in  childhood,  has  only  deepened  and 

Strengthened  with  time; 

And  as  a  tribute  of  esteem,  admiration,  and  love 

For  his  high  poetic  genius;  his  exuberant 

Humor  and  wit;  his  delightful  social 

Qualities;  and  his  pure  and 

Noble  character. 

These  poems  begin  with  a  sad  story  of  Italian 
patrician  life,  in  which  youth,  love,  and  happiness 

("9) 


120        REMINISCENCES  OF  W.  W.  STORY. 

are  shadowed  and  shattered  by  insanity.  It  is  a 
weird  picture,  entitled  "Castle  Palo."  This 
volume  includes  a  poem  on  a  theme  especially 
difficult  to  express  in  words — that  change  of  feel- 
ing which  is  at  some  time  experienced  by  every 
one,  and  of  which  Mr.  Story  writes  as 

AN  ESTRANGEMENT. 

How  is  it?    It  seems  so  strange; 

Only  a  month  ago 
And  we  were  such  friends;  now  there's  a  change; 

Why,  I  scarcely  know. 

I  know  not  the  how  or  why, 

I  only  feel  the  fact; 
Something  hath  happened  to  set  us  awry, 

Something  is  sadly  lacked. 

Friends!     Oh,  yes,  we  are  friends; 

The  words  we  say  are  the  same , 
But  there  is  not  the  something  that  lends 

The  grace,  though  it  has  no  name. 

It  is  not  that  I  express 

Less,  but  a  little  more. 
A  little  more  accent,  a  little  more  stress 

Which  was  not  needed  before. 

Was  it  not  all  a  mistake  ? 

Oh  !  porcelain  friendship  so  thin, 
It  is  so  apt,  so  apt  to  break 

And  let  out  the  wine  from  within. 

Following  these  lines  is  a  poem  upon  St. 
Peter's,  of  which  so  much  has  been  said  and  writ- 
ten; yet  these  early  impressions  seem  fresh  and 


POEMS   BY  W.  W.  STORY.  121 

attractive,     and     therein     are    interwoven    some 
wholesome  lessons  for  those  who  may  heed  or 

need  them. 

IN  ST.  PETER'S. 

THE   CONVERT   TALKS   TO   A   FRIEND. 

A  noble  structure  truly !  as  you  say — 
Clear,  spacious,  large  in  feeling  and  design, 
Just  what  a  church  should  be — I  grant  alway 
There  maybe  faults,  great  faults,  yet  I  opine 
Less  on  the  whole  than  elsewhere  may  be  found. 

View  it  as  a  whole, 
Not  part  by  part,  with  those  mean  little  eyes, 
That  can  not  love,  but  only  criticise — 
How  grand  a  body!  with  how  large  a  soul! 

Seen  from  without,  how  well  it  bodies  forth 
Rome's  proud  religion — 

See  what  an  invitation  it  extends 

To  the  world's  pilgrims,  be  they  foes  or  friends.    .    . 

Step  in,  behind  your  back  the  curtain  swings, 
The  world  is  left  outside  with  worldly  things.     .     . 

See  how  grand  and  bold, 
Key  of  the  whole,  swells  up  the  airy  dome 
Where  the  Apostles  hold  their  lofty  home, 
And  angels  hover  in  the  misted  height, 
And  amber  shafts  of  sunset  bridge  with  light 
Its  quivering  air. 

You  scorn  the  aid  of  color,  exile  art, 

And  with  cold  dogmas  seek  to  move  the  heart; 

But  still  the  heart  rebels,  for  man  is  wrought 

Of  God  and  clay,  of  senses  as  of  thought; 

Religion  is  not  logic — husks  of  creeds 

Will  never  satisfy  the  spirit's  needs. 


122         REMINISCENCES  OF  W.  W.  STORY. 

And  why  should  you,  in  this  great  world  of  ours 
Give  God  the  wheat,  and  give  the  devil  flowers? 

t 

But  list,  the  sharp  bell  tinkles — 'tis  the  Host 
The  Pope  uplifts — you  will  not,  friend,  be  lost, 
Though  you  should  kneel ;  we  know  above 
The  incarnate  Christ  is  looking  down  in  love. 
And  then,  when  all  was  over,  like  a  weight 
The  crowd  rose  up  and  rustled  all  elate — 
Ah,  friend!  the  soul  is  touched  by  all  this  art — 
But  come — the  crowd  moves — shall  we  too  depart? 

How  he  lived  in  both  the  Old  World  and  the 
New!  How  dear,  and  equally  dear,  were  both 
New  England  and  Italy  to  the  poet-artist's  heart 
may  be,  in  measure,  realized  from  his  own  expres- 
sions of  their  contrasts  in  this  early  poem, 
entitled 

ITALY  AND  NEW  ENGLAND. 

Look  on  this  picture,  and  on  this. 

All  is  Italian  here!    The  orange  grove, 

Through  whose  cool  shade  we  every  morning  rove 

To  pluck  its  glowing  fruit  —  our  villa  white 

With  loggias  broad,  where  far  into  the  night 

We  sit  and  breathe  the  intoxicating  air 

With  orange  blossoms  filled; 

And  at  each  corner  'neath  its  roof  of  tiles, 

Hung  with  poor  offerings,  the  Madonna  smiles 

In  her  rude  shrine,  so  picturesque  with  dirt. 

Is  this  not  Italy?    Your  nerves  are  hurt 

By  that  expression  —  dirt  —  nay,  then  I  see 

You  love  not  nature,  art,  nor  Italy. 

You  do  not  like  it?    All  the  worse  for  you. 
Stop,  dearest,  here,  and  let  your  fancy  roam, 
Just  for  the  contrast,  to  old  things  at  home, 


POEMS  BY  W.  W.  STORY.  123 

From  lazy  Italy's  poetic  shows 

To  stern  New  England's  puritanic  prose. 

Remember  that  gray  cottage  at  the  foot 

Of  the  hill's  slope,  where  two  great  elms  have  root 

Beside  the  porch,  like  sentinels; 

The  entrance  —  and  the  little  fenced-in  yard, 

With  its  heaped  flower-plots,  banked  and  edged  with  laths, 

Through  which  were  cut  those  narrow  sunken  paths. 

Oh!  what  a  difference  'twixt  that  and  this! 

Yet  there  we  had  an  unbought  happiness. 

Our  chamber- windows,  where  we  used  to  sit 
Long  mornings  (Ah!  how  I  remember  it), 
Looked  o'er  a  slope  of  green  unto  a  grove, 
('Twas  there  I  dared  to  speak  to  you  of  love). 

I  lay  and  read  some  poem,  grand  and  strong, 
Of  Browning's  —  or  with  Tennyson's  rich  song 
Reveled  awhile,  and  in  your  glowing  face 
Saw  the  quick  answer  to  its  power  or  grace. 

Here  in  this  land  of  orange,  olive,  vine, 
How  strange  these  memories  of  mine  and  thine; 
Yet,  dear  for  all  its  prose,  New  England  seems, 
Hazed  with  poetic  hues  by  childhood's  dreams. 

Mr.  Story's  love  for  Rome  dwelt  ever  with  him. 
An  early  poetic  expression  of  it  is  dated  "  Rome, 
July  5,  '52,"  and  occurs  in  the  poem 

AT  THE  VILLA  CONTI. 

Dear,  dear  old  Rome — Well!  nothing  is  like  Rome; 
Others  may  please  me,  her  alone  I  love. 
She  is  no  place  like  other  cities  are  — 
But  like  a  mother  and  a  mistress  too, 
The  soul  of  places,  unto  whom  I  give, 


124         REMINISCENCES  OF  W.  W.  STORY. 

How  gladly,  all  my  heart,  and  wish  it  more, 
That  I  might  give  more.     After  life  with  her, 
With  her  sweet  counsel,  tender  grace,  large  thought 
And  great  calm  beauty,  all  seems  trivial. 
Ask  me  not  why  I  love,  nor  count  her  faults. 
Who  ever  gave  a  reason  for  his  love  ? 

Mr.  Story  wrote  the  prologue  spoken  at  the 
inauguration  of  Crawford's  bronze  statue  of 
Beethoven,  at  the  Boston  Music  Hall,  March  i, 
1856,  which  is,  in  part,  as  follows: 

Art  hath  bid  the  evanescent  pause,  and  know  no  more 

decay; 
Made  the  mortal  shape  immortal,  that  to  dust  has  passed 

away. 
There's  the  brow  by  thought  o'erladen,  with  its  tempest  of 

wild  hair; 
There's  the  mouth  so  sternly  silent  and  the  square  cheeks 

seamed  with  care; 
There  the  eyes  so  visionary,   straining    out,   yet  seeing 

naught 
But  the  inward  world  of  genius  and  the  ideal  forms  of 

thought; 
There  the  hand  that  gave  its  magic  to  the  cold,  dead,  ivory 

keys, 
And  from  out  them  tore  the  struggling  chords  of  mighty 

symphonies ; 
There  the  figure,  calm,  concentred,  on  its  breast  the  great 

head  bent; 
Stand  forever  thus,  great  master!  thou  thy  fittest  monu- 
ment, 
Where  the  wings  of  angels  graze  us,  and  the  voices  of  the 

spheres 
Seem  not  far,  and  glad  emotions  fill  the  silent  eyes  with 

tears. 


POEMS  BY  W.  W.  STORY.  125 

Let  our  voices  sing  thy  praises,  let  our  instruments  com- 
bine, 

'Till  the  hall  with  triumph  echoes,  for  the  hour  and  place 
are  thine. 

Of  the  master,  Mr.  Story  has  made  three  repre- 
sentations. One  is  said  to  be  "a  magnificent  bust, 
looking  as  Beethoven  might  have  looked  when 
thinking  out  a  ' sinfonia  eroica,''  the  hair  thrown 
wildly  back,  the  face  full  of  suppressed  fire  and 
emotion."  This  bust  has  found  a  home  in  the 
Philadelphia  Academy  of  Fine  Arts. 


XXI. 

Birth  of  Julian  R.  Story.  Siena.  Statues  of 
"Judith,"  "President  Quincy,"  "Venus," 
"  Relief,"  "  Race  with  Goats,"  "  Little  Red 
Riding  Hood." 

(1856-1862.) 

The  sculptor's  third  son,  Julian  Russell  Story, 
was  born  September  8,  1856.  Speaking  of  Mr. 
and  Mrs.  Browning,  two  or  three  years  later,  Mrs. 
Orr  says: 

"  We  hear  of  them  in  September,  in  Siena, 
with  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Story  in  an  adjacent  villa,  and 
Walter  Savage  Landor  in  a  cottage  near  by." 

Mr.  Landor  was  first  a  guest  of  Mr.  Story's, 
and  afterward  re-moved  to  the  cottage  rented  for 
him  by  Mr.  Browning,  near  his  own. 

There  is  the  strength  of  high  and  mighty  pur- 
pose in  "Judith."  The  Spectator  of  June,  1868,  says: 

"  The  many   English   admirers    of    the    most 

thoughtful    and    perhaps    the    most    original    of 

modern  sculptures,  will  be  glad  to  hear  that  Mr. 

Story's  chisel  has  not  been  idle  lately.     His  chief 

finished  work  has  been  a  statue  of  'Judith.'     It  is 

the  only  '  Judith  '  one  sees  without  the  grizzly  head 

of   Holofernes.     Its  conception   is   a  remarkable 

(126) 


STATUES.  127 

deviation  from  the  common  look  of  flushed 
exaltation  and  vindictive  triumph  which  Italian 
artists  give.  There  is  no  faltering  of  purpose  in 
the  gaze  strained  upward,  no  looseness  in  the 
grasp  of  the  sword — but  the  consciousness  of  an 
untold  sacrifice,  the  sense  of  a  gulf  between  the 
present  and  the  past,  the  dilation  of  a  mind  that  is 
pleading  with  the  invisible  world,  are  unmistak- 
ably graven  on  attitude  and  brow.  This  is  when 
she  goes  to  the  tent,  in  the  early  morning,  inspired 
with  courage  and  patriotism,  sword  in  hand,  and 
one  magnificent  arm  uplifted  to  heaven  as  if  to 
call  it  to  witness  for  the  necessity  of  her  deed. 
The  hair  is  very  lightly  tinged  —  not  obtrusively; 
it  only  adds  to  the  vivid,  lifelike  impression  she 
makes  on  you." 

Speaking  of  his  art,  Story  once  said:  "The 
strength  of  sculpture  is  in  its  anatomical  correct- 
ness and  its  ideality.  It  is  only  to  the  pressure 
that  the  fountain  owes  its  towering  column. 
From  the  soul  and  mind  these  thoughts  of  art 
must  spring;  ideas  are  purified,  taste  is  refined, 
and  out  of  the  fullness  of  the  whole  being  the 
work  is  accomplished." 

It  is  interesting  to  note  that  when  the  alumni 
of  Harvard  College  desired  to  order  a  statue  of 
President  Quincy,  the  commission  was  given  to 
Story.  Of  this  work  a  correspondent  of  the  Boston 
Press  says: 


128         REMINISCENCES  OF  W.  W.  STORY. 

"  Mr.  Quincy's  statue  has  long  been  finished, 
and  Mr.  Story  spoke  with  great  feeling  of  the 
interest  he  had  in  working  on  it,  leaving  every- 
thing else  to  do  that,  lest  the  old  man  should 
never  see  it;  and  he  says  it  will  be  a  bitter  dis- 
appointment to  him  if  Mr.  Quincy  never  sees  it. 
The  hope  of  giving  him  pleasure  was  in  his  mind 
all  the  time  he  worked  on  it.  I  have  heard  people 
say  that  it  is  the  finest  of  all  Story's  works.  I 
wish  they  would  borrow  money  and  have  it 
brought  home  —  but  when  it  is  done,  it  will  prob- 
ably be  too  late." 

Another  press  notice  is  as  follows: 

"  The  thoughtful  liberality  of  the  late  George 
Bemis  of  Newton  in  the  generous  bequest  of 
$5,000  to  the  subscription  (of  $3,000  to  $8,000)  to 
purchase  the  Story  statue  of  President  Quincy, 
will  afford  the  friend  of  the  college  and  admirers 
of  Mr.  Quincy  the  satisfaction  of  seeing  the  statue 
of  that  illustrious  man  placed  where  it  belongs  in 
Cambridge." 

This  encouragement  came  at  one  of  the  many 
and,  at  times,  unavoidable  trials  of  an  artist's  life, 
which  require  no  little  resolution,  courage,  and 
patience  to  live  through  them.  Of  these  seasons 
of  disheartenment  Mr.  Story  had  an  artist's  full 
share. 

Complaining  of  the  subserviency  of  modern  to 
ancient  art,  Mr.  Story  says: 


STATUES.  129 

"  Modern  sculpture  is  so  subservient  to  Grecian, 
that  the  human  face  is  generally  treated  as  if  it 
were  of  no  moment  in  the  expression  of  passion 
and  character,  because  the  Greeks  so  treated  it. 
We  have  a  thousand  Venuses,  but  no  women." 
Yet  he  reverenced  Greek  art,  and  poetically  ex- 
pressed his  tribute  to  it  as  follows: 

Yes!  every  age  in  Art  its  faith  hath  wrought, 
The  Grecian  chisel  carved  the  Grecian  thought; 
Where  is  the  voice  that  in  the  stone  can  speak 
In  any  other  language  than  the  Greek? 

Some  one  writes:  "  The  marbles  of  the  ancient 
Greeks  leap  and  laugh  their  own  sunlit  laughter 
in  every  fragment."  These  words  are  brought  to 
mind  by  a  basso  relievo  which  Mr.  Story  modeled 
in  1863.     It  is  called  the  "  Race  with  Goats." 

In  the  year  i860,  "  Venus  Anadyomene  "  came 
from  Mr.  Story's  chisel,  and  in  its  treatment  shows 
clearly  what  his  idealization  of  this  subject  was 
meant  to  be.  In  striking  contrast  to  these  roman- 
tic-classic forms  came  "  Little  Red  Riding  Hood," 
with  her  wee  face  full  of  sweet,  wondering  sur- 
prise. 


Q 


XXII. 

"  Sojourner    Truth,    the    Libyan    Sibyl,"  and 
"The  First  Cleopatra." 

(1860-1862.) 

Upon  page  473  of  Volume  II  of  the  Atlantic 
Monthly,  in  the  issue  of  April,  1863,  are  the  fol- 
lowing lines  from  the  pen  of  the  late  Mrs.  Harriet 
Beecher  Stowe,  upon  "Sojourner  Truth,  the  Lib- 
yan Sibyl." 

After  graphically  giving  the  history  of  this 
singular,  strong,  sad  woman,  Mrs.  Stowe  con- 
tinues: 

"  But  though  Sojourner  Truth  has  passed  away 
from  among  us  as  a  wave  of  the  sea,  her  memory 
still  lives  in  one  of  the  loftiest  and  most  original 
works  of  modern  art,  the  Libyan  Sibyl,  by  Mr. 
Story,  which  attracted  so  much  attention  in  the 
late  World's  Exhibition. 

"  Some  years  ago,  when  visiting  Rome,  I 
related  Sojourner's  history  to  Mr.  Story  at  a 
breakfast  at  his  house.  Already  had  his  mind 
begun  to  turn  to  Egypt  in  search  of  a  type  of  art 
which  should  represent  a  larger  and  more  vigor- 

(130) 


"  SOJOURNER  TRUTH."  131 

ous  development  of  nature  than  the  cold  elegance 
of  Greek  lines.  His  glorious  Cleopatra  was  then 
in  process  of  evolution,  and  his  mind  was  working 
out  the  problem  of  her  broadly  developed  nature, 
of  all  that  slumbering  weight  and  fullness  of  pas- 
sion with  which  this  statue  seems  charged,  as  a 
heavy  thunder-cloud  is  charged  with  electricity. 

"  The  history  of  Sojourner  Truth  worked  in 
his  mind  and  led  him  into  the  deeper  recesses  of 
the  African  nature  —  those  unexplored  depths  of 
being  and  feeling,  mighty  and  dark  as  the  gigan- 
tic depths  of  tropical  forests,  mysterious  as  the 
hidden  rivers  and  mines  of  that  burning  conti- 
nent whose  life-history  is  yet  to  be.  A  few  days 
after  he  told  me  that  he  had  conceived  the  idea 
of  a  statue  which  he  should  call  the  Libyan  Sibyl. 
Two  years  subsequently  I  revisited  Rome,  and 
found  the  gorgeous  Cleopatra  finished,  a  thing  to 
marvel  at,  as  the  creation  of  a  new  style  of 
beauty,  a  new  manner  of  art.  Mr.  Story  re- 
quested me  to  come  and  repeat  to  him  the  history 
of  Sojourner  Truth,  saying  that  the  conception 
had  never  left  him.  I  did  so;  and  a  day  or 
two  after  he  showed  me  the  clay  model  of  the 
Libyan  Sibyl.  I  have  never  seen  the  marble 
statue,  but  am  told  by  those  who  have  that  it 
was  by  far  the  most  impressive  work  of  art  at 
the  Exhibition." 

A  notice  of  the  two  statues,  from  the  London 


132         REMINISCENCES  OF  W.  W.  STORY. 

Athenceiun,  must  supply  a  description  better  than 
any  I  could  give: 

"The  Cleopatra  and  Sibyl  are  seated,  partly 
draped,  with  the  characteristic  Egyptian  gown 
that  gathers  about  the  torso  and  falls  freely 
around  the  limbs;  the  first  is  covered  to  the 
bosom,  the  second  bare  to  the  hips.  Queenly  Cleo- 
patra rests  back  against  her  chair  in  meditative 
ease,  leaning  her  cheek  against  one  hand,  whose 
elbow  the  rail  of  the  seat  sustains;  the  other  is 
outstretched  upon  her  knee,  nipping  its  forefin- 
ger upon  the  thumb  thoughtfully,  as  though  some 
firm,  willful  purpose  filled  her  brain,  seeming  to 
set  those  luxurious  features  to  a  smile  as  if  the 
whole  woman  '  would.' 

"  Upon  her  head  is  the  coif,  bearing  in  front  the 
mystic  uroens  or  twining  basilisk  of  sovereignty, 
while  from  its  sides  depend  the  wide  Egyptian 
lapels,  or  wings,  that  fall  upon  her  shoulders. 
The  Sibilla  Libica  has  crossed  her  knees  —  an 
action  universally  held  amongst  the  ancients  as 
indicative  of  reticence  or  secrecy,  and  of  power  to 
bind.  A  secret-keeping  looking  dame  she  is,  in 
the  full-bloom  proportions  of  ripe  womanhood, 
wherein,  choosing  thus  to  place  his  figure,  the 
sculptor  has  deftly  gone  between  the  disputed 
point  whether  these  women  were  blooming  and 
wise  in  youth,  or  deeply  furrowed  with  age  and 
burdened  with   the   knowledge   of    centuries,  as 


"SOJOURNER  TRUTH."  133 

Virgil,  Livy,  and  Gellius  say.  Good  artistic  exam- 
ples might  be  quoted  on  both  sides.  Her  forward 
elbow  is  propped  upon  one  knee;  and  to  keep  her 
secrets  closer  —  for  this  Libyan  woman  is  the 
closest  of  all  the  Sibyls — she  rests  her  shut 
mouth  upon  one  closed  palm,  as  if  holding  the 
African  mystery  deep  in  the  brooding  brain.  She 
looks  out  through  mournful,  wavering  eyes,  under 
the  wide  shade  of  the  strange  horned  (Amorite) 
crest,  that  bears  the  mystery  of  the  Tetragam- 
maton  upon  its  front.  Over  her  full  bosom, 
mother  of  the  myriads  as  she  was,  hangs  the 
same  symbol.  Her  face  has  a  Nubian  cast,  her 
hair  wavy  and  plaited,  as  is  meet. 

"  We  hope  to  see  the  day  when  copies  of  both 
of  the  Cleopatra  and  the  Libyan  Sibyl  shall  adorn 
the  Capitol  at  Washington." 

In  his  preface  to  "The  Marble  Faun,"  where 
he  accredits  to  their  several  creators  various  art 
subjects  mentioned  in  the  book,  Mr.  Hawthorne 
says: 

"  Not  content  with  these  spoils,  I  committed  a 
further  robbery  upon  a  magnificent  statue  of 
Cleopatra,  the  production  of  Mr.  Wm.  W.  Story, 
an  artist  whom  his  country  and  the  world  will  not 
long  fail  to  appreciate."  In  "  The  Marble  Faun  " 
is  this  description  of  Cleopatra's  statue : 

"Her  face  was  a  miraculous  success.  The 
sculptor  had  not  shunned  to  give  the  full  Nubian 


134        REMINISCENCES  OF  W.  W.  STORY. 

lips,  and  other  characteristics  of  the  Egyptian 
physiognomy.  His  courage  and  integrity  had 
been  abundantly  rewarded,  for  Cleopatra's  beauty 
shone  out  richer,  warmer,  more  triumphantly 
beyond  comparison  than  if  he  had  chosen  the 
tame  Grecian  type.  In  a  word,  all  Cleopatra, 
voluptuous,  passionate,  tender,  wicked,  terrible, 
and  full  of  poisonous  and  rapturous  enchantment, 
was  kneaded  into  what  only  a  week  or  two  before 
had  been  a  lump  of  wet  clay  from  the  Tiber." 

An  Italian  critic  well  observed,  "  In  Cleopatra 
we  are  concerned  with  the  heart,  in  the  Sibyl  with 
the  intellect." 

Moritz  Hartman,  writing  to  the  New  York 
Staats-Zeitung  of  the  London  Exhibition: 

"  Do  the  Americans  know  that  they  have  con- 
tributed more  than  the  tithe  of  their  fame  to 
Rome  at  this  exhibition?  It  is  true  that  they 
have,  and  they  are  themselves  to  be  blamed  for 
what  is  lost  to  them  and  gain  to  Rome.  The 
Roman  Government  has  a  separate  little  building 
within  the  palace  walls.  Even  the  Koh-i-noor, 
with  its  ocean  of  light,  attracts  fewer  people  than 
the  statues  set  up  in  the  Roman  department. 
But  among  these  the  truly  splendid  statues  of  the 
American,  William  Story,  carry  off  the  greatest 
applause — the  Cleopatra  and  the  Libyan  Sibyl. 

"How  do  these  and  other  American  works 
come  to  be  found  in  the  Roman  department,  you 


"SOJOURNER  TRUTH."  135 

ask?  The  affair  is  very  simple.  The  American 
Government  declined  to  undertake  the  cost  of 
transporting  these  works  to  London.  The  Papal 
Government  stepped  forward,  and,  in  the  most 
liberal  manner,  offered  to  send  to  the  London 
Exhibition,  at  its  own  cost,  all  the  works  in  marble 
of  artists  living  in  Rome." 

Prior  to  this  generous  action  upon  the  part  of 
the  Papal  Government,  Mr.  Story  was  passing 
through  one  of  the  most  serious  seasons  of  dis- 
couragement incident  to  an  artist's  life.  It  was  a 
time,  indeed,  when  necessity  demanded  substantial 
recognition,  or  else  a  return  to  the  legal  profes- 
sion. From  Pio  Nono  came  that  "word  of  en- 
couragement that  afforded  the  prompting  impulse 
which  shall  last  forever"  in  the  artist's  gratitude 
and  in  his  success.  The  Pope,  who  was  one  of 
Story's  earliest  patrons,  and  who  had  previously 
named  him  first  on  a  commission  of  artists,  now 
most  generously  offered  to  send,  at  his  own  ex- 
pense, the  artist's  finished  statues  to  the  London 
Exhibition  of  1862. 


XXIII. 

"  Roba  di  Roma."     Poem,  Roba  di  Roma. 
(1862-1863.) 

The  fame  which  these  statues  gained  in  "  The 
Roman  Pavilion,"  and  their  advantageous  finan- 
cial disposal,  re-established  Mr.  Story  as  a  sculptor 
in  Rome  for  all  his  days.  Why  should  he  not  love 
it,  and  call  it  "  dear  old  Rome  "  and  write  "  Roba 
di  Roma,"  wherein  he  says:  "  It  was  on  the 
sixth  of  December,  1856,  that  I  landed  with  my 
family  at  Civita  Vecchia,  on  my  third  return  to 
Rome,  to  that  dear  old  city.  No  one  can  live  long 
in  Rome  without  loving  it.  '  Roba '  is  everything, 
from  rubbish  and  riff-raff  to  the  most  exquisite 
product  of  nature  and  art;  we  have  no  term  so 
comprehensive  in  English." 

"Roba  di  Roma"  was  first  published  serially 
in  the  Atlantic  Monthly;  then  in  book  form,  by 
Chapman  &  Hall,  London;  and  afterward  by 
Houghton,  Mifflin  &  Co.,  Boston. 

The  Parthenon  of  February  14,  1863,  speaks  of 
it  thus:  "  This  is  a  book  which  ought  to  find  many 
readers,    both    among  those  who  have  been   to 

(136) 


"ROBA  DI   ROMA."  137 

Rome  and  those  who,  never  having  been  there, 
still  hope  to  go.  Even  the  dunce  who  stays  at 
home  may,  if  not  helplessly  a  dunce,  find  its 
pages  pleasant  reading,  for  they  are  full  of  vivid 
pictures,  quaint  jests,  and  vivid  descriptions." 

From  the  New  York  Times,  April  4,  1864,  are 
these  words:  "As  a  graphic  and  minute  picture 
of  the  manners  and  customs  of  a  people,  "  Roba 
di  Roma  "  may  be  placed  on  the  same  shelf  with 
"  Law's  Modern  Egyptians,"  and  it  would  be  dif- 
ficult to  name  a  third  work  where  the  same  object 
is  attained  with  equal  success." 

The  Rome  of  fifty  years  ago  scarcely  survives 
to-day,  even  in  the  Trastevere  quarters.  These 
facts,  disturbing  to  the  painter  and  student  of  the 
picturesque,  will  materially  add  to  the  value  of 
"  Roba  di  Roma "  as  a  record  and  enduring 
memorial  of  a  vanishing  state  of  things. 

Upon  page  515  of  No.  11  of  the  Atlantic 
Monthly  of  April,  1863,  is  found  a  review  of 
"Roba  di  Roma"  by  James  Russell  Lowell. 

Mr.  Lowell  begins  with  this  quotation:  "Trav- 
eling was  traveling  in  one  part  of  the  world  as 
well  as  another;  it  consisted  in  being  such  a  time 
from  home,  and  in  traversing  so  many  leagues." 
"This,"  he  says,  "is  no  more  than  truth  of  those 
idle  people  who  powder  themselves  with  dust 
from  the  highways  and  blur  their  memories  with 
a  whirl  through  the  galleries  of  Europe.     They 


138         REMINISCENCES  OF  W.  W.  STORY. 

go  abroad  to  escape  themselves,  and  fail,  as 
Goethe  says,  '  in  the  attempt  to  jump  away  from 
their  own  shadows.'  Honest  conviction  and  re- 
port will  long-  continue  to  be  one  of  the  rarest  of 
human  things;  narrative,  simple  as  it  seems,  can 
be  well  done  by  two  kinds  of  men  only  —  those  of 
the  highest  genius  and  culture,  and  those  wholly 
without  either. 

"  Mr.  Story  has  taken  Italy  with  due  deliber- 
ation, having  lived  there  now  some  fifteen  years. 
He  has  thus  been  enabled  to  let  things  come  to 
him,  instead  of  running  after  them,  and  his  sen- 
sations have  had  time  to  ripen  slowly  toward  the 
true  moment  of  projection.  The  most  beauti- 
ful experiences  come  not  by  observation.  The 
crumbling  temple  lured  forth,  but  it  was  only  to 
see  a  sunset  or  to  hear  a  nightingale. 

"Anybody  can  be  learned;  anybody,  except 
Doctor  Holmes,  dull;  but  not  everybody  can  be  a 
poet  and  artist. 

"  The  chapter  on  the  Evil  Eye  is  a  marvel  of 
misplaced  erudition.  The  author  has  hunted  all 
antiquity  like  a  policeman,  and  arrested  high  and 
low  on  the  least  suspicion  of  a  squint.  For  our- 
selves, we  would  have  taken  Mr.  Story's  word  for 
it,  without  the  attestation  of  these  long-winded 
old  monsters,  who  bored  their  own  generation  too 
thoroughly  to  have  any  claim  upon  the  button  of 
ours. 


"ROBA  DI   ROMA."  139 

"  But  learning-  makes  a  small  part  of  Mr. 
Story's  book;  only  the  concluding  chapters  hap- 
pen to  bristle  with  quotations  and  references, 
thickly  as  the  nave  of  St.  Peter's,  on  a  festival, 
with  bayonets.  The  really  valuable  parts  of  the 
book  (and  they  make  much  the  greater  part  of  it) 
are  those  in  which  the  author  relates  his  own 
experiences.  It  is  really  refreshing,  makes  us  feel 
as  if  Italy  is  still  inhabited  by  very  human  beings, 
and  contains  something  more  than  tombs  and 
inscriptions.  They  contain  the  most  cheerful 
and  picturesque  descriptions  of  Italian  life  and 
scenery  we  have  ever  met  with.  The  chapters 
on  Street  Music  in  Rome,  on  Games,  on  Cafes 
and  Theaters,  on  Villeggiatura  and  the  Vintage, 
on  the  Ghetto,  the  Markets,  and  Summer  in 
the  City,  are  all  of  them  delightful.  And  we 
can  not  be  too  thankful  to  Mr.  Story  that  he 
leaves  a  theme,  so  poetical  in  itself,  to  be  poet- 
ical, and  that,  though  an  artist,  he  does  not  enter 
on  any  of  those  disquisitions  which  would  have 
made  Sir  Joshua  shift  his  trumpet.  On  the 
whole,  we  are  inclined  to  forgive  him  the  poly- 
glot lumber  of  his  chapter  on  the  Evil  Eye,  in 
consideration  of  the  scenery  and  galleries  he  has 
spared  us." 

In  charming  contrast  to  the  "  Roba  di  Roma  " 
of  1862,  there  is  a  short  poem  of  that  name,  by 
Mr.  Story,  dated  November,  1878,  and  to  be  found 


140         REMINISCENCES  OF  W.  W.  STORY. 

upon  page  567  of   the  Atlantic  Monthly,  No.  42. 
A  portion  of  it  is  as  follows: 

(Juliette  appears  alone  at  a  balcony.) 

Romeo!     Hist!     Madonna,  saints  and  all! 
How  the  man  sleeps,  stretched  out  beneath  yon  wall, 
Deaf  as  the  wall  itself!     I  shall  be  missed 
Before  I  make  him  hear.     Romeo,  hist! 
Ah,  well!     Thank  Heaven,  I've  waked  him  up  at  last! 
Quick,  mio,  catch  this  bottle  I've  made  fast 
To  this  long  cord!     'Tis  English  wine,  as  strong  as  aqua 
vita. 

Now  be  off  at  once! 
There  round  the  corner— not  that  way,  you  dunce, 
Or  they  will  see  you! — and  come  back  at  ten. 
Who  knows  what  I  may  find  to  give  you  then  ? 
A  rivederci,  caro,  ah,  va  ben! 

That  dear  old  mio  mine — what  luck  it  was 
That  through  the  pantry  I  should  chance  to  pass 
Just  when  old  Frangsaw  had  slipped  out  a  minute, 
And  no  one  near  to  see!     The  saints  were  in  it! 

Hark!  who's  there? 
That  mio's  not  come  back  again,  I  hope! 
No;  'twas  the  old  goat  tugging  at  his  rope. 
All's  safe,  thank  Heaven! 

Madonna,  what  a  row! 
That's  Frangsaw— who  has  missed  the  bottle  now — 
Screaming  for  me,  and  swearing  at  them  all. 
Vengo!    I  am  not  deaf,  I  heard  you  call. 
What  is  the  matter  ?    Blessed  saints!     I  say 
I  hear  you — anyone  could,  miles  away. 
I  am  coming.     Bottle?    A  black  bottle  ?    Oh! 
How  in  the  name  of  mercy  should  I  know  ? 
I've  just  come  up  to  draw  some  water  here. 
Wine  ?    I  know  nothing  of  your  wine,  Monsieur! 


"ROBA   DI   ROMA."  141 

Wine  of  cost  ? 
Ten  bottles  were  there,  and  one  lost. 

There  were  but  nine 
When  I  last  saw  them.     Oh,  yes,  that's  your  way, 
There's  not  a  thing  you  stupidly  mislay; 
But  someone  stole  it; 

You  heard  me  say 
Something  to  somebody?    What  was  it,  pray? 
'  Pst! '      Via!  quick,  be  off  at  once!     Oh  that? 
That's  what  you  heard  ?    You  idiot!  you  flat! 
Why,  what  I  called  to  was  the  cat — the  cat. 


XXIV. 

"American   Neutrality." 
(1862-1863.) 

From  one  of  the  leading  American  journals  of 
that  date  is  the  following: 

"  The  Daily  Nezvs  has  engaged  Mr.  William  W. 
Story,  the  son  of  our  eminent  jurist  and  judge,  to 
contribute  a  series  of  three  articles  on  the  com- 
plex question  now  distracting  the  Union. 

"  Mr.  Story  sums  up  the  indignities  and  re- 
proaches which  the  English  papers  have  heaped 
upon  us,  and  observes,  'we  are  not  ashamed  to 
confess  that  we  feel  this  conduct  deeply.  We 
desired  the  good  opinion  of  England.  We  thought 
we  were  sure  of  her  sympathy,  and  we  are  disap- 
pointed and  hurt.' 

"He  shows  that  England  has  lent  moral  and 
actual  encouragement  to  the  South,  and  forcibly 
contrasts  the  action  of  the  British  Government  in 
our  case  with  that  which  is  adopted  toward  Hun- 
gary and  Italy  in  their  revolutionary  struggles. 
He  reviews  the  conduct  of  France,  the  question  of 
privateering,  the  Trent  affair,  the  views  of  Eng- 

(142) 


"AMERICAN  NEUTRALITY."  143 

lish  statesmen  on  the  causes  and  objects  of  our 
civil  war,  the  tariff,  and  the  history  of  its  career 
from  1 8 16  down  to  the  present  time  —  topics 
enough  for  one  contribution;  but  Mr.  Story  writes 
with  admirable  temper  and  clearness  of  style. 
The  editor  of  the  Daily  News  warmly  commends 
the  article  to  the  public  notice,  and  we  think  it 
can  not  fail  to  have  good  effect." 

Mr.  Story  says: 

"All  nations'  difference  keeps  all  nations' 
peace." 

Notwithstanding  the  alluring  charms  of  that 
"  dear  old  city,"  Rome,  and  his  outspoken  love 
for  all  Italy  and  the  Italians,  Mr.  Story  never, 
in  the  whole  course  of  his  successful  life,  passed 
outside  the  fostering  lines  of  his  own  country, 
and  never  forgot  for  a  single  moment  that  he 
was  an  American;  neither  in  his  early  adversi- 
ties and  struggles  for  fame,  nor  in  the  hours  of 
its  full  attainment,  when  foreign  honors  fell  thick 
and  fast  upon  him,  did  he  accept  a  single  laurel, 
or  any  reward  of  merit,  otherwise  than  as  an 
American. 

While  our  country  was  convulsed  by  the  throes 
of  civil  war,  he  served  her  with  his  pen  as  a  true 
American,  at  the  sacrifice  of  private  interests. 
Just  what  the  nature  of  this  service  was  is  best 
understood  by  the  following  extracts  from  the 
American  press  of  that  date: 


144         REMINISCENCES  OF  W.  W.  STORY. 

"  The  more  kindly  feeling  with  which  our  Gov- 
ernment and  its  cause  are  regarded  in  England, 
France,  and  Germany  is  clearly  due  to  the  light 
which  Messrs.  Motley,  Story,  Weed,  and  others 
have  been  at  pains  to  throw  upon  a  subject  which 
rebel  emissaries  had  thoroughly  muddled.  The 
true  theory  of  our  Constitution  is  no  longer  an 
insoluble  enigma." 

"  Mr.  W.  W.  Story  has  written  a  long  and 
valuable  communication  to  the  London  Daily 
News,  September  6,  7,  1862-3,  on  the  'Prece- 
dents of  American  Neutrality.'  The  communica- 
tion amounts  to  a  respectably  sized  pamphlet  in 
itself,  and  well  merits  publication  in  that  form  on 
both  sides  of  the  Atlantic. 

"Those  of  our  readers  who  remember  Mr. 
Story's  beautiful  poem  on  Leonardo  da  Vinci, 
which  was  reproduced  from  Blackwood  a  few 
weeks  since,  will  find  it  difficult,  on  reading  this 
last  production  of  the  versatile  and  gifted  author, 
to  reconcile  the  junction  of  such  varied  talents 
in  the  same  person,  and  will  perhaps  wonder  still 
more  that  he  can  turn,  in  so  short  a  space  of  time, 
from  weaving  the  creations  of  poetic  fancy  to  this 
last  elaborate  and  important  treatise  on  interna- 
tional law.  Our  English  friends,  also,  we  suspect, 
must  look  with  curious  interest  upon  the  doings  of 
a  man  who  first  carries  off  the  highest  honors  of 
the  great  exhibition  as  a  sculptor,  then  gains  a 


"AMERICAN   NEUTRALITY."  145 

name  in  literature  such  that  his  '  Roba  di  Roma ' 
goes  to  a  fourth  edition,  and  then  essays  to  take 
the  field  against  Sir  Roundell  Palmer  and  the 
English  lawyers  with  a  ponderous  array  of  legal 
precedents  and  as  the  champion  of  American 
neutrality.  Such  a  specimen  we  suspect,  how- 
ever, helped  our  cause  not  a  little,  in  and  of  itself, 
with  Englishmen.  If  Judge  Story's  name  and 
fame  are  dragged  into  the  contest  by  them,  as 
being  on  their  side,  it  certainly  will  help  strongly 
to  controvert  any  such  idea  that  the  son,  taking 
his  father's  reputation  in  charge,  and  going  down 
into  the  juridical  arena  at  his  side,  demonstrates 
that  the  Judge's  opinions  are  misconstrued,  and 
that,  if  alive,  his  utterances  would  be  upon  the 
American  side  now,  as  then;  and  while  the  father 
is  thus  detached  from  the  English  alliance,  it  is  no 
small  recommendation  to  the  Northern  cause  that 
the  son  —  at  once  sculptor,  poet,  author,  and  jurist 
—  throws  all  his  weight  (enhanced  as  it  is  by  his 
English  popularity)  into  the  same  side  of  the 
scale. 

"  We  trust  that  this  effort  of  Mr.  Story  in  the 
national  cause  will  attract  the  attention  in  this 
country  that  it  deserves,  and  that  Americans 
will  be  sensible  enough  to  afford  at  least  as  much 
respect  to  writers  in  their  interest  abroad,  like 
Motley,  Story,  Fay,  and   Sargent,  as  is  paid  to 

them  by  Europeans  who  are  comparatively  unin- 
10 


146        REMINISCENCES  OF  W.  W.  STORY. 

terested  in   the  result   of   our  struggle  for  our 
future  national  prosperity." 

It  may  be  added  that  Mr.  Story's  loyalty  and 
service  were  generously  acknowledged  and  cordi- 
ally accepted  by  the  American  popular  voice  of 
that  day. 


XXV. 

Sappho.     Saul.     Medea. 
(186.3-1864.) 

The  following  extracts  are  from  the  Philadel- 
phia Press  of  1863: 

"  One  of  our  townsmen  has  just  brought  back 
from  Europe  the  last  work  of  Mr.  Story,  a  statue 
of  Sappho.  Mr.  Story  has  represented  Sappho 
sitting  in  a  Grecian  chair,  lost  in  reverie,  her  lyre 
laid  carelessly  beside  her.  Lovely  Sappho,  with 
far-away  eyes  and  an  unutterable  sadness  in  the 
curve  of  her  lovely  lips  —  it  is  the  shadow  of  the 
great  tragedy  looming  up  in  the  dim  future,  and 
it  transforms  the  countenance  of  a  beautiful 
woman  into  the  face  of  a  poetess  —  into  the  face 
of  Sappho. 

"  The  great  merit  of  the  statue  is  its  perfect 
repose.  The  drapery  is  managed  with  rare  skill. 
The  outline  of  the  limbs  show  in  places  beneath 
the  vestments  with  a  delicacy  and  truth  that 
prove  the  severest  study.  Such  parts  of  the 
figure  as  are  undraped,  the  arms  and  part  of  one 
shoulder,  are  modeled  with  the  most  perfect  fidel- 

(147) 


148         REMINISCENCES  OF  W.  W.  STORY. 

ity.  There  are  few  statues  belonging  to  modern  art 
which  are  so  profoundly  imbued  with  the  feeling 
of  the  best  age  of  Greek  art,  yet  which  are  not 
weak  imitations." 

Writing  of  the  artist's  inspiration,  Mr.  Story 
says:  "Wordsworth  speaks  of  the  consecration 
and  the  poet's  dream.  That  is  what  we  need,  and 
without  it  there  is  no  art.  There  is  as  much  in 
what  is  omitted  as  in  what  is  expressed.  Sug- 
gestion is  often  better  than  statement.  We  have 
life  and  love,  and  these  are  the  soul  of  art."  A 
few  stanzas  follow  from  his  poem  on  the  sub- 
ject of 

SAPPHO. 

My  love  is  false  and  my  life  is  lorn, 

Roll  on,  O!  ruthless  sea! 
The  wreath  from  my  head  is  rudely  torn, 

Moan  with  me! 

Curses  on  her  who  stole  my  love! 

Curses,  Lesbos,  light  on  thee! 
False  to  her!     O!  Phaon  prove, 

As  to  me. 

There  is  the  necklace  once  he  gave! 

Take  it,  false  and  changeful  sea. 
There  is  the  harp  for  thy  treacherous  wave; 

Now  take  me. 

Saul  was  a  grand  figure.  The  Jewish  king  is 
seated,  but  sits  as  if  he  might  start  up  at  any 
moment,  his  head  bent  slightly  forward,  a  circlet 
upon     it,     engraved     with     the     Hebrew    word 


Medea. 


SAPPHO.     SAUL.     MEDEA.  149 

"Jehovah."  His  brows  are  bent  as  if  in  thought; 
one  mighty  hand  is  twisting  his  beard,  and  the 
other  plays  with  a  sword  at  his  side,  while  his 
face,  glowering  and  terrible,  shows  plainly  that 
"the  Evil  Spirit  is  upon  him."  It  is  the  thought 
of  royalty  at  stake,  the  deathless  type  of  kingcraft 
at  feud  with  prophecy.  Saul  resists  his  anguish 
with  kingly  pride  —  it  is  torture,  not  despair,  that 
he  feels;  he  is  a  tyrant,  an  Eastern  tyrant,  per- 
haps, yet  thoroughly  heroic. 

From  the  Boston  Daily  Advertiser,  of  October 
26,  1875,  is  the  following  notice  of  this  marble: 

"  The  Roman  Government  has  just  applied  to 
the  artist  for  leave  to  send,  at  its  own  cost,  the 
colossal  figure  of  Saul  to  the  Dublin  Exposition,  in 
graceful  recognition  of  the  credit  reflected  upon 
the  Roman  Department  in  (London)  1862,  by  the 
'  Cleopatra'  and  the  '  Libyan  Sibyl.'  " 

MEDEA. 

Mr.  Story's  "  Medea  Meditating  the  Death  of 
Her  Children"  is  best  and  briefly  described  by 
these,  his  own  lines: 

What  does  Medea  there 
In  that  dim  chamber?    See  on  her  dark  face 
And  serpent  brow,  rage,  fury,  love,  despair! 
What  seeks  she  ?    There  her  children  are  at  play, 
Laughing  and  talking.     Not  so  fierce,  I  say — 
You  scare  them  with  that  passionate  embrace! 
Hark  to  those  footsteps  in  the  hall  —  the  loud 


150         REMINISCENCES  OF  W.  W.  STORY. 

Clear  voice  of  Jason  heard  above  the  crowd. 

Why  does  she  push  them  now,  so  stern,  away, 

And  listening,  glance  around  —  then,  fixed  and  mute, 

Her  brow  shut  down,  her  mouth  irresolute, 

Her  thin  hands  twitching  at  her  robes,  the  while, 

As  with  some  fearful  purpose,  does  she  stand? 

Why  that  triumphant  glance — that  hideous  smile, 

That  poniard  hidden  in  her  mantle  there, 

That  through  the  dropping  folds  now  darts  its  gleam  ? 

Oh,  Gods!   oh,  all  ye  Gods!   hold  back  her  hand. 

Spare  them!   oh,  spare  them!   oh,  Medea,  spare! 

You  will  not,  dare  not!   ah,  that  sharp  shrill  scream! 

Ah!  the  red  blood — 'tis  trickling  down  the  floor! 

Help!  help!   oh,  hide  me!     Let  me  see  no  more! 

A  friend  of  Mr.  Story  says:  "This  is  Medea 
with  her  stormy  heart  chained  and  still  in  marble; 
no  actress'  ravings  ever  told  the  story  so  well." 

The  following  is  from  the  New  York  Times, 
dated  April  2,  1864: 

"  Mr.  Story  is  one  of  the  gifted  few  possessing 
in  equal  perfection  the  eye  of  the  painter  and  the 
pen  of  an  accomplished  writer,  in  addition  to  the 
mastery  over  the  most  arduous  materials  of  art. 
This  combination  of  the  literary  and  the  artistic 
is  rare  in  any  age,  and  it  has  raised  him  to  a  posi- 
tion of  great  eminence  among  the  first  living 
sculptors  of  the  world." 

It  was  after  a  visit  to  Mr.  Story's  studio  that 
Robert  Browning  wrote  his  "  Eulogy  of  Sculp- 
ture "  and  its  advantage  over  poetry  as  finding 
work  for  uninspired  moments. 


XXVI. 

Letter  from  James  Russell  Lowell.     Statues 
of  Edward   Everett  and  Delilah. 

(1865-1866.) 

From  the  "  Letters  of  James  Russell  Lowell," 
edited  by  Charles  Eliot  Norton,  is  the  following: 
"Writing  to  another  friend,  Mr.  Lowell  says: 
" '  The  Storys  have  got  home,  and  look  as 
young  as  ever.  I  first  saw  William  on  Com- 
mencement Day,  and  glad  enough  I  was.  A 
friendship  counting  nearly  forty  years  is  the 
finest  kind  of  shade  tree  I  know  of.  One  is  safe 
from  thunder  beneath  it,  as  under  laurel  —  nay, 
more  safe,  for  critical  bolts  do  not  respect  the 
sacred  tree  any  more  than  if  it  were  so  much  the- 
atrical green  baize.  Well,  he  and  two  more  came 
up  hither  after  dinner,  and  we  talked  and  laughed 
and  smoked  and  drank  Doner dechanci  till  there 
wasn't  a  bald  head  nor  a  gray  hair  among  us. 
Per  Bacco  and  tobacco,  how  wisely  silly  we  were! 
I  forgot  for  a  few  blessed  hours  that  I  was  a  pro- 
fessor, and  I  felt  as  if  I  was  something  real.'  " 

From  the  Boston  Advertiser  of  February  28, 

(isO 


152        REMINISCENCES  OF  W.  W.  STORY. 

1865,  is  the  following  extract  from  a  letter  then 
published: 

"  Will  you  allow  me  to  express  through  your 
paper  the  great  interest  I  feel  that  the  statue  of 
Mr.  Edward  Everett  should  be  the  work  of  our 
countryman,  Mr.  Story  ? 

"From  no  other  living  sculptor's  hand  can 
Boston  be  more  sure  of  receiving  a  work  that  will 
do  honor  at  once  to  the  statesman,  to  the  city,  and 
to  art. 

"  I  hope  this  will  not  be  thought  to  be  dictated 

by  any  personal  feeling  on  the  part  of  the  writer. 

Whatever  friendship  I  may  feel  for  Mr.  Story,  I 

write  this  note  solely  as  a  friend  of  Boston  and  a 

friend  of  art. 

"A.  D." 

In  that  statue  the  sculptor  has  delineated  the 
form  and  features  of  one  of  his  own,  but  espe- 
cially one  of  his  father's,  dearest  friends.  Mr. 
Everett  is  represented  as  the  splendid  orator  that 
he  was,  with  uplifted  hand,  and  the  fine  face  full 
of  convincing  interest.  In  the  public  garden  of 
Boston  stands  this  memorial  of  the  finished 
scholar  and  statesman,  an  honor  to  his  name,  and 
to  the  sculptor's  who  gave  it  form,  likeness,  and 
expression.  In  this  connection  the  following 
anecdote  may  be  quoted  from  "  The  Life  and 
Letters  "  of  Judge  Story: 


LETTER   FROM  JAMES  R.  LOWELL.        153 

"  On  one  occasion,  at  a  public  dinner  in  Boston, 
Mr.  Justice  Story  and  Mr.  Everett  were  present, 
the  former  presiding.  In  one  of  those  felicitous 
little  speeches  for  which  he  was  distinguished  he 
concluded  by  calling  Mr.  Everett  up  and  saying: 
'  Fame  travels  where  Ever-ett  goes.'  Mr.  Ever- 
ett's remarks,  bright  and  scholarly,  as  was  always 
the  case  with  him,  closed  with  the  repartee: 
'  However  far  my  name  may  go,  it  can  never  rise 
above  one  Story.'  " 

From  the  public  press  of  the  time  is  taken  this 
notice: 

"  'A  thing  of  beauty  is  a  joy  forever,'  and  we 
were  thrilled  with  joy  when  we  beheld  at  Hill's 
studio  the  '  Delilah  '  of  W.  W.  Story,  the  American 
poet  and  great  sculptor  of  the  age.  In  his  hap- 
piest mood  he  has  seized  the  moment  when  the 
siren  is  commencing  to  feel  the  Nemesis  which 
has  her  in  its  grasp  forever.  Deep  gloom  is 
seated  upon  that  brow,  the  heir  of  a  deed  of  black 
treachery  committed  upon  her  sleeping  husband, 
and  there  it  will  sit  for  all  time.  The  sun  in 
heaven  has  no  brightness  for  her,  and  happiness 
has  sighed  '  Farewell.'  " 


XXVII. 

"The  Proportions  of  the  Human  Form  Accord- 
ing to  a  New  Canon."  Statue  of  George 
Peabody.     "Cupid  and  the  Sphinx." 

(1866-1867.) 

This  work  came  from  the  pen  of  Mr.  Story  in 
1866,  and  when  telling  you  how  he  came  to  write 
it  his  face  fairly  beamed  with  pleasure.  He  said 
he  had  been  thinking  for  years  how,  throughout 
their  ages  of  classical  art,  the  old  Greeks  seemed 
to  have  attained  a  general  perfection  of  the  pro- 
portions of  the  human  figure;  and  that  he  had 
always  believed  they  had  some  fixed  laws  or  rules 
now  lost  to  the  world  of  art. 

One  night,  being  very  much  preoccupied  with 
this  absorbing  problem,  he  retired  and  fell  asleep. 
After  sleeping  for  some  hours  he  awakened  with 
a  start.  Sudden  visions  came  to  him  of  the 
circle,  the  triangle,  and  the  square,  and  their 
symbolic  meanings  as  applied  to  the  measure- 
ments of  the  Greek  statues.  Springing  from  his 
bed,  he  placed  upon  some  scraps  of  paper  what 
afterward,  with  due  study  and  care,  became  the 

(154) 


PROPORTIONS   OF  THE   HUMAN   FORM.      155 

"  Proportions  of  the  Human  Form  According  to 
a  New  Canon." 

Not  long  ago,  in  Rome,  a  sculptor  of  pre-emi- 
nent talent  said  this  was  the  best  guide  for  its 
purpose  that  he  knew  of,  and  that  he  held  it  in 
constant  usage. 

It  might  not,  however,  lead  to  that  perfect  imi- 
tation of  nature  of  which  Mr.  Story  spoke  as 
follows: 

"  Goethe  tells  a  story  about  a  goat  that  ate 
up  all  the  green  thistles  painted  in  a  volume 
of  Natural  History;  and  he  adds  upon  his  own 
account  that  '  True  art  uses  nature  only  as  a 
garment,  transfiguring  the  outer  to  its  own  inner 
life.' " 

This  volume  is  illustrated  and  "  is  for  practical 
use." 

The  Prince  of  Wales  honored  by  his  presence 
and  participation  the  occasion  of  the  unveiling  ot 
the  statue  of  George  Peabody,  the  American  phi- 
lanthropist who  had  done  so  much  to  make  com- 
fort possible  for  the  London  poor.  H.  R.  H.  at 
that  time  remarked  that  it  was  "  worthy  of  the 
sculptor's  reputation,  worthy  also  of  the  man  to 
whom  it  was  to  be  dedicated."  It  stands  just 
back  of  the  Royal  Exchange.  From  it  Mr.  Story 
modeled  a  copy  which  was  presented  to  the  city 
of  Baltimore  by  Robert  Garrett.  This  statue, 
which   represents   Mr.   Peabody  as   an   easy  and 


156         REMINISCENCES  OF  W.  W.  STORY. 

dignified  seated  figure,  London  smoke  has  turned 
to  hues  of  gray. 

These  were  the  years  of  his  greatest  activities, 
both  of  pen  and  chisel.  A  decade  later,  to  the 
question,  "  You  have  been  a  busy  man  these 
twenty-two  years  past,  Mr.  Story?"  he  answered: 
"Yes,  I  have,  indeed;  I  couldn't  live  without 
work.  During  eight  months  of.  the  year  I  am  in 
Rome,  and  every  day  I  am  up  at  eight  o'clock 
and  at  work,  and  I  work  fully  eight  hours  a  day." 

From  a  writer  to  whom  many  of  my  quotations 
are  due  is  taken  the  following  respecting  Mr. 
Story's  "  Cupid  and  the  Sphinx,"  an  allegory  in 
marble  so  true  and  strong  that  you  laugh  out- 
right on  seeing  it:  "With  his  quick  taste  and 
insight  the  sculptor  has  divested  the  figure  of 
her  Egyptian  hugeness  without  minimizing  her. 
She  is  still  great,  though  graceful,  as  she  turns 
her  delicately  poised  intellectual  head  —  with  its 
face  full  of  the  old  mystery  —  in  wonder  at 
the  little  fellow  who,  with  bow  and  arrows,  has 
leaped  upon  her  side  as  if  to  assail  her.  Only 
because  he  is  hopelessly  blind  can  Cupid  with- 
stand that  silent  scrutiny,  too  lofty  for  disdain 
and  too  noble  for  scorn.  '  What  is  an  arrow  to 
the  Sphinx  ? '  says  her  high  look.  But  this  tiny, 
winged  aggressor,  Cupid  —  what  will  the  Sphinx 
of  him?  Nothing.  If  she  but  rises  to  her  full 
height  he  will  tumble  into  the  mire." 


PROPORTIONS  OF  THE  HUMAN  FORM.      157 
Mr.  Story  says  : 

Perfect  love  at  its  full  height 
Kills  with  rapture.     We  are  made 
With  human  senses,  and  we  all  need 
Illusions,  veils,  a  tempering  atmosphere, 
And  ignorance  to  shield  us  with  its  shade. 


XXVIII. 

Selections   from  "  Graffiti    d'    Italia,"  by 
W.  W.  Story. 

(1866-1868.) 

These  Italian  pencil  sketches  were  written  at 
various  times,  but  collected  and  dedicated  at 
Rome,  April  n,  1866,  and  published  by  Wm. 
Blackwood  &  Sons,  London  and  Edinburgh,  in 
1868. 

After  the  title  page  comes  the  short  preface, 
saying:  "Two  statements  are  to  be  made  in 
regard  to  this  volume  :  First,  many  of  the  poems 
have  been  previously  published;  second,  all  the 
poems  are  intended  to  be  dramatic,  and,  being 
utterance  of  historical  or  fictitious  personages, 
are  not  to  be  understood  as  expressing  the  opin- 
ions or  sentiments  of  the  author." 

The  table  of  contents  is  divided  into  "  Medie- 
val," "Antique,"  "Modern,"  and  "  Scherzi." 

After  the  contents  is  a  page  upon  which 
appears 

AL   MIO   AMICO, 

ARTURO   DEXTER. 

Belli  gli  estivi  giorni  a  me  si  can 
Sotto  d'ltalia  il  ciel  splendido  e  puro 
(158) 


"GRAFFITI   D'  ITALIA."  159 

Belle  le  sere  avvolte  in  velo  scuro. 
Che  teco  io  scorci  in  dolci-  favellari; 
Piu  belli  ancor,  piu,  dolci  e  piu  felici, 
Perche  su  suol  stranier  vivemmo  amici. 

Sotto  all  'ombra  di  pampane  contorte 
Ricorda  ch'io  scrive  la  storia  mesta 
Di  due  ch'amor  sospinse  a  fin  funesta, 
A  morte  l'un  l'altro  a  peggio  che  morte. 
Or  questa  istoria  a  te  consacro,  un  pegno 
Dell'  amicizia  mia,  sebbene  indegno. 

Roma,  ii  Aprile,  1866. 

Of  "Graffiti  d'  Italia"  it  has  been  said: 
"While  most  of  our  nature-poems  are  quiet 
pictures  of  scenery,  these  are  pictures  of  men 
and  women  —  human  hearts.  They  are  all 
alive  with  bright  suggestions  and  full  of  devo- 
tion to  art." 

"Ginevra  di  Siena"  is  a  type  of  those  Old 
World  tragedies  wherein  cold  unwisdom  and  hot 
imprudence  end  in  death,  and  worse  than  death  — 
lunacy.  The  Count's  hard  and  exacting  nature 
well  proves  Mr.  Story's  words,  "  On  a  rock  you 
can  not  rear  a  rose." 

"  Radicofani  "  is  a  ghostly  dream  of  the  fierce 
old  medieval  days  of  Italy,  when  family  feuds 
were  heirlooms  for  generations  and  only  to  be 
extinguished  by  an  enemy's  blood.  They  had 
their  counterparts  among  the  "  Scottish  Chiefs  " 
and  border  barons  of  Scotland  and  England. 

One  not  infrequently  meets  the  worldly  Mon- 


160        REMINISCENCES  OF  W.  W.  STORY. 

sigfnore   del    Fiocco,  and  the  beautiful  character 
and  simple  life  of  "  II  Curato,"  who  says: 

So,  sir,  my  house  is  good  enough  for  me. 
I  have  been  happy  there  for  many  years, 
And  there's  no  better  riches  than  content; 
Then  I've  my  little  plat  of  flowers — for  flowers 
Are  God's  smile  on  earth.     I  could  not  do 
"Without  my  flowers. 

"  Giannone  "  was  pronounced  "  simply  the  clev- 
erest poem  that  we  have  read  for  years.  The 
startling  yet  natural  combination  of  the  rhymes 
is  really  marvelous,  and  if  William  W.  Story  does 
not  make  a  name  for  himself,  we  are  no  true 
prophets."  This  was  from  a  press  notice  upon 
the  appearance  of  "  Giannone "  in  Blackwood's 
Magazine. 

It  gives  more  than  a  story,  as,  indeed,  do  all 
these  sketches  of  the  poet-artist  —  "  Marcus  Aure- 
lius,"  "Marcus  Antoninus,"  "Cleopatra,"  "Neme- 
sis," "  Zia  Nica,"  and  others.  Each  has  its  text,  and 
all  show  Mr.  Story  to  be  a  close  student  of  human 
nature. 

His  delight  in  rural  nature  is  happily  expressed 

in  several  poems,  among  which  is  the  following, 

entitled 

AUTUMN. 

The  cyclamen,  alive  with  fears, 
Smooths  trembling  back  its  hare-like  ears; 
The  frosted  creepers  bleeding  fall, 
And  drip  in  crimson  on  the  wall; 


"GRARFITI   D'   ITALIA."  161 

The  rusted  chestnuts  shivering  spill 
Their  bursting  spine-burrs  on  the  hill; 
The  day  is  short,  soon  comes  the  night, 

And  damp  and  chill 

Along  the  hill 

The  dews  distill 
Under  the  harvest  moon's  great  light. 

'Tis  lovely  still;  but  yet  a  sense 

Of  sadness  and  impermanence 

Disturbs  me  —  and  this  flushing  grace 

That  mantels  over  Autumn's  face 

Is  but  the  hectic  hue,  beneath 

Whose  beauty  steals  the  thought  of  death  — 

And  this  it  is  that  makes  me  sigh. 

Ah  !  bitter  word 

Too  often  heard; 

What  thoughts  are  stirred 
Whene'er  we  whisper  thee  —  good-by  ! 

Even  as  a  boy,  long  before  he  saw  that  magic 
land  of  history,  romance,  and  the  eternal  arts, 
Story  loved  Italy.  Many  years  afterward,  writ- 
ing to  an  old-time  friend  in  Rome,  he  said: 

Then  I  remember  you  went  to  Rome, 

And  on  the  hem  of  your  garment  brought 

Odors  back  to  our  quiet  home 

That  ravished  with  sweetness  my  boyish  thought. 

Everything  lovely  I  seemed  to  see 

When  you  were  talking  of  Italy. 

And  the  Italians  loved   the  poet-artist  as  he 

loved  them;  he  found  them  childlike  in  a  good 

sense,  natural,  free  from  self -consciousness.     On 
u 


162         REMINISCENCES  OF  W.  W.  STORY. 

the  other  hand,  his  easy  speech,  his  simple, 
cheery,  gracious  manner,  pleased  them.  They 
called  him  " II  simpatico  Americano" — the  sym- 
pathetic American  —  and  spoke  of  him  as 
"one  of  those  Yankees  who  are  always  ascend- 
ing." 

Story  had  ever  been  a  great  mimic.  In  fact, 
the  good  mother  of  one  of  his  boyhood  friends 
cautioned  her  son  against  making  faces,  lest  he 
should  spoil  his  own  face  by  it,  as  William  Story 
had  done.  This  power  over  facial  expression, 
softened  and  modified  by  time,  was  one  of  the 
chief  charms  of  his  later  years;  and  many  have 
said  that  had  he  devoted  such  talents  as  he  evi- 
dently possessed  to  the  stage,  he  would  have 
made  a  great  actor.  It  may  have  been  this 
unconscious  mimic  power  that  laid  him  open  to 
the  criticism  of  being  sometimes,  in  his  literary 
work,  an  imitator.  Two  instances  are  cited: 
One  where  Lowell's  hand  appears;  another  where 
Browning  is  strongly  suggested.  The  criticism 
has  not  been  generally  thought  well  founded; 
yet,  considering  the  close  and  long  association 
between  these  two  gifted  men  and  Mr.  Story, 
and  their  constant  interchange  of  thoughts  and 
views  upon  various  subjects,  it  is  quite  as  proba- 
ble that  either  of  the  former  may  have  absorbed 
something  from  the  varied  genius  and  the  crea- 
tive imagination  of  the  sculptor,  as  it  is  that  the 


"GRAFFITI   D'   ITALIA."  163 

latter  appropriated  their  original  ideas.     On  this 
subject  Story  says: 

In  one  sense  no  man  is  original; 
Borrowers  and  beggars  are  we  all. 
'Tis  the  small  nature  dares  not  to  receive, 
Having  no  wealth  within  from  which  to  give. 
The  greatest  minds  the  greatest  debts  may  owe, 
And  by  their  taking  make  a  thing  to  live ; 
Each  fighting  for  the  truth,  and  one  for  all, 
With  no  mean  pride  to  be  original. 

The  following  lines  from  "A  Contemporary 
Criticism  "  make  a  part  of  Raphael's  answer  to 
the  Duke  of  Urbino,  who  is  disposed  to  find  fault 
with  the  artist's  reaching  out  toward  other  arts 
than  that  of  painting.     Raphael  replies: 

Take,  to  illustrate  my  thought, 
Music,  the  only  art  to  science  wrought, 
The  ideal  art,  that  underlies  the  whole, 
Interprets  all,  and  is  of  all  the  soul. 
Each  art  is,  so  to  speak,  a  separate  tone; 
The  perfect  chord  results  from  all  in  one. 
Strike  one,  and  as  its  last  vibrations  die  — 
Listen  —  from  all  the  other  tones  a  cry 
Wails  forth,  half  longing  and  half  prophecy; 
So  does  the  complement,  the  hint,  the  germ 
Of  every  art  within  the  others  lie, 
And  in  this  inner  essence  all  unite; 
For  what  is  melody  but  fluid  form; 
Or  form,  but  fixed  and  stationed  melody? 
Colors  are  but  the  silent  chords  of  light. 

So,  colors  live  in  sound  —  the  trumpet  blows 
Its  scarlet,  and  the  flute  its  tender  blue. 


164         REMINISCENCES  OF  W.  W.  STORY. 

So,  rythmic  words,  strung  by  the  poet,  own 
Music  and  form  and  color  —  every  sense 
Rhymes  with  the  rest;  'tis  in  the  means  alone 
The  various  arts  receive  their  difference. 

Carlyle  says:  "  Genius  is  only  illimitable  indus- 
try." Mr.  Story  called  it  "capacity  for  work." 
His  own  capacity  for  work  appeared  to  be  with- 
out limit,  as  the  creative  power  that  fed  these 
energies  seemed  inexhaustible. 

Excessive  labor  and  the  heat  of  Roman  sum- 
mers at  times  led  him  to  Switzerland.  He  had 
a  summer  house  at  San  Moritz.  His  enthusiasm 
and  delight  in  this  life  may  be  best  understood 
by  his  "  Alpine  Song  "  : 

With  alpenstock  and  knapsack  light, 

I  wander  over  hill  and  valley, 
I  climb  the  snow-peak's  flashing  height, 

And  sleep  in  the  sheltered  chalet  — 
Free  in  heart,  happy  and  free  — 
This  is  the  summer  life  for  me. 

The  city's  dust  I  leave  behind 

For  the  keen  sweet  air  of  the  mountains, 

The  grassy  path  by  the  wild  rose  lined, 
The  gush  of  the  living  fountains  — 

Free  in  heart,  happy  and  free  — 

This  is  the  summer  life  for  me. 


XXIX. 

Summer  Vacation  in  Scotland.  Mystery  or 
Passion  Plays.  Canidia.  Salome.  Jerusa- 
lem. 

(1869-1871.) 

Mrs.  Orr  says,  in  writing  of  Mr.  Browning : 
"In  the  summer  of  1869  the  poet,  with  his  sister 
and  son,  changed  the  manner  of  his  holiday  by 
joining  Mr.  Story  and  his  family  in  a  tour  in 
Scotland  and  a  visit  to'  Louisa,  Lady  Ashburton, 
at  Loch  Luichart   Lodge." 

In  Blackwood's  Magazine  of  December,  1867, 
is  a  very  carefully  written  article  by  Mr.  Story 
upon  "Mystery  or  Passion  Plays."  The  author 
gives  the  definition  of  the  word  "  Mystery "  in 
connection  with  the  Passion  Play  as  coming  from 
the  Latin  ministerum,  and  says  it  is  equivalent  to 
the  Italian  funzione  and  the  Spanish  auto. 

Those  interested  in  the  history  of  this  subject 
will  find  both  pleasure  and  profit  in  reading  Mr. 
Story's  papers  thereupon. 

The   date  of  the  statue   of   "Canidia"  is  not 

known,  but   the  intense  realism  of  this  work  of 

Mr.  Story's  is  well  known.     All  those  acquainted 

(165) 


1 66         REMINISCENCES  OF  W.  W.  STORY. 

with  the  works  of  Horace  know  Canidia,  whose 
real  name  was  Gratidia,  as  a  beautiful  Neapolitan, 
of  whom  Horace  was  enamored  in  the  bright  flush 
of  his  youth.  Horace,  the  "  not  unfavored  of  the 
gods,"  when  Gratidia  deserts  him,  revenges  him- 
self upon  her  by  holding  her  up  to  contempt  as  a 
sorceress,  and  attacks  her  by  the  name  of  Canidia, 
because  her  real  name,  Gratidia,  conveyed  the  idea 
of  what  was  pleasing  and  agreeable,  while  the  new 
one  was  associated  with  gray  hairs  and  old  age. 

It  is  old  age  that  Story  has  so  marvelously 
expressed  in  his  statue.  Here  is  Canidia  the 
sorceress,  whom  the  sculptor  has  chiseled  with 
remnants  of  youth  and  beauty  seen  through  the 
ravages  of  time  —  those  wonderfully  wrought 
wrinkles  of  the  brow,  face,  neck,  and  skinny 
arms,  the  veins  swollen  with  very  fright  at  their 
own  disfigurement.  The  serpent  clasped  tightly 
in  her  hand,  the  bird's-egg  ornaments  and  the 
fierce,  wild  expression  of  strength  and  struggle, 
fixes  "  Canidia  a  Sorceress"  in  marble  forever. 

In  1869-1870  Salome  was  modeled.  Salome, 
full  of  youth,  beauty,  and  consciousness,  resting  in 
languorous  ease  after  her  dance,  forms  a  striking 
contrast  and  foil  to  Canidia. 

In  "A  Jewish  Rabbi  in  Rome,"  Mr.  Story  says: 

Hear  Jeremiah  speak; 

How  doth  the  city  solitary  sit 

That  once  was  filled  with  people  !      How  is  she 


Jerusalem. 


SUMMER  VACATION   IN  SCOTLAND.       167 

Become  a  widow,  that  among  the  powers 
Was  great,  and  princess  in  the  provinces  ? 
She  weepeth  sorely  in  the  night;  her  tears 
Are  on  her  cheeks;  and  of  her  lovers  none 
Will  comfort  her.     Ah,  my  Jerusalem  ! 
That  like  a  mourner  weeping  at  a  tomb. 
Sits  sad  in  sackcloth,  grieving  o'er  the  past, 
Hoping  for  nothing,  stricken  by  despair; 
Sad,  lonely  stretches  compass  her  about 
With  silence. 

Jerusalem  is  represented  by  a  woman  sitting 
amid  ruined  walls,  leaning  her  right  arm  upon  a 
broken  pillar,  doubtless  some  part  of  the  shattered 
temple,  while  her  left  hand  hangs  listlessly  across 
her  knee.  Some  one  says:  "  She  is  draped  as 
only  Story's  musical  fingers  know  how  to  do  it." 
Around  her  head  is  bound  the  traditional  talitJi, 
the  tasseled  ends  falling  over  her  shoulders.  On 
the  low  but  powerful  forehead  rests  the  phylac- 
tery, an  ornament  which  indicates  power  among 
the  Jews.  Her  body  is  clothed  in  a  loose,  sleeve- 
less garment,  leaving  the  arms,  throat,  and  neck 
bare.  Over  the  knees  is  thrown  a  drapery.  This 
work  bears  inspection  even  to  the  minutest  details, 
from  the  fine  modeling  of  the  hands  and  the 
quiver  of  the  nostril  to  the  sluggish  blind  worm 
that  creeps  out  from  among  the  ruins,  and  the 
ivy  and  acanthus  that  clothe  their  sides.  There 
seems  to  be  no  one  point  of  view  better  than  an- 
other; every  line  flows  into  a  perfect  resolution, 


168         REMINISCENCES  OF  W.  W.  STORY. 

and  even  in  a  bad  light   the  shadows  fall   into 
beautiful  meaning. 

The  face,  in  its  grief,  bitterness,  and  despair,  is 
a  marvel  of  subtile  expression.  The  eyes  gaze 
afar  off,  into  a  mysterious  and  hopeless  distance. 
We  see  how  "  Zion  fallen  from  her  high  place 
among  nations  "  draws  up  "  brackish  waters  from 
the  deep  wells  of  affliction,"  and  from  the  mouth 
drawn  down  at  the  corners  we  fairly  listen  for 
these  words,  "  Do  unto  mine  enemies  as  thou  hast 
done  with  me  for  my  transgression."  Yet  all  in 
all  it  tells  a  tale  of  trouble  that  will  not  allow  of 
words,  nor  needs  the  Latin  inscription  on  its  base, 
"  How  doth  the  city  sit  solitary,"  for  explanation. 


XXX. 

Studio  Via  San  Martino.      Poem.     Mr.  Waldo 
Story's  Studio.    Mr.  and  Mrs.  Julian  Story. 

(1871-1895.) 

In  187 1  Mr.  Story  built  for  himself  the  studio 
No.  7  Via  San  Martino  a  Macao,  just  off  the 
Piazza  Independenza  in  the  new  quarter  of  Rome, 
and  for  over  twenty-four  years  this  spot  was  the 
scene  of  his  incessant  labors  of  "  eight  hours  every 
day."  "  I  can  no  more  do  without  working-  than 
I  can  do  without  eating,"  he  said,  and  truly;  for 
when  he  could  not  work,  he  died. 

It  was  here  that  the  writer  of  these  pages  first 

met  Mr.  Story,  through  Miss  Starr's  introduction, 

which  led  the  sculptor    into   that  retrospection 

which  unconsciously  dropped  many  precious  bits 

of   his  earliest    personal    life   that  would  never 

otherwise  have  fallen  from  his  lips.      He  wore, 

when  I  saw  him,  a  quaintly  picturesque  costume 

and  cap,  not  unlike  Michael  Angelo's;  bits  of  clay 

clung  to  his  garments.     His  smile  of  greeting  was 

like  sunshine,  so  warm  and  cheering  was  it,  his 

gentle  voice  by  its  gracious  strength  giving  cour- 

(169) 


170         REMINISCENCES  OF  W.  W.  STORY. 

age  to  the  diffident.  He  was  never  too  busy  to 
show  a  consideration  and  interest  far  beyond  what 
the  occasion  required.  It  is  not  easy  to  forget  the 
radiant  presence  of  this  simple,  splendid  man. 

His  recollections  of  Rome,  as  it  had  been  in 
the  old  papal  days,  were  very  interesting,  "fla- 
vored as  they  were  with  comments  upon  things  as 
they  presented  themselves  to  the  poet's  mind  and 
the  artist's  eye,  with  spicy  witticisms  upon  the 
changed  appearance  of  Rome  under  the  new 
regime.  Like  Ruskin,  he  rather  thought  it  a 
deteriorating  effect  of  civilization." 

Story's  studio,  a  suite  of  great  barnlike  rooms, 
and  a  long  corridor  of  plaster  casts,  might  well  be 
called  a  caravansary  of  plastic  art.  It  was  entered 
from  the  street  through  a  little  brown,  wooden 
doorway,  with  a  convent  bell-cord  on  the  right. 
Just  over  the  center,  in  the  smallest  of  letters,  was 
"W.  W.  Story,"  almost  the  color  of  the  door,  so 
that  one  must  look  twice  to  find  the  name.  An 
attempt  has  already  been  made  in  this  volume  to 
describe  the  works  within,  but  the  private  work- 
ing room  has  not  been  touched  upon.  The  sky 
windows  gave  the  desired  qualities  of  sculptural 
light,  and  when  dimmed  into  twilight,  taught  him, 
he  said,  many  lessons,  discovering  to  him  general 
effects  which  his  study  of  detail  had  missed  in  the 
strong  glare  of  open  day. 

Here  the   sculptor   followed  the  motto  of  his 


STUDIO   VIA   SAN   MARTINO.  171 

life,  "  Industry,"  and  here  could  be  heard  the 
click  of  the  busy  chisels  of  his  faithful  servitors  in 
the  ante-rooms.  From  without  came  the  music 
of  falling  water  in  the  court,  a  garden  rich  in 
vines,  flowers,  and  trees,  and  strewn  with  bits  of 
old  marbles,  broken  statues,  a  piece  of  cornice, 
frieze,  a  capital  of  curious  carving,  and  other  art 
fragments.  The  upper  floors  of  this  large  studio 
the  sculptor  devoted  to  the  use  of  his  son,  Waldo 
Story.  A  visit  to  these  apartments,  filled  with 
casts,  clay  models  in  various  stages  of  develop- 
ment, designs,  and  finished  works,  was  a  revela- 
tion of  those  preeminent  talents  which  constitute 
genius. 

Among  these  works  may  be  mentioned  the 
Rothschild  fountain,  a  Galatea  in  bronze  standing 
life-size  in  a  marble  shell  drawn  by  Nereids,  and 
accompanied  by  cupids  in  bronze.  A  double- 
galleried  court,  intended  for  an  English  country 
home,  is  in  the  rich  style  and  colors  of  the  clois- 
ters of  St.  Paul's  without  the  walls,  and  of  San 
Giovanni,  at  Rome.  Mr.  Waldo  Story  has  in  prog- 
ress a  work  of  many  figures  entitled,  "  Nymphs 
Drinking  at  the  Fountain  of  Love."  There  is  also 
an  equestrian  statuette  of  Edward,  the  Black 
Prince,  every  inch  royal  in  line  and  character. 

A  press  notice  of  W.  W.  Story,  dated  Novem- 
ber, 1895,  refers  to  his  sons  as  follows:  "It  is 
pleasing  to  see  families  perpetuating  the  qualities 


172         REMINISCENCES  OF  W.  W.  STORY. 

which  made  their  founders  eminent.  The  hope 
of  improvement  in  the  race  rests  upon  the  possi- 
bility of  such  reproduction.  Mr.  Story's  two  sons 
are  distinguished,  one  as  a  sculptor  and  the  other 
as  a  painter." 

The  portrait  of  his  father  in  the  Oxonian  cap 
and  gown,  exhibited  at  the  Chicago  Columbian 
Exposition,  and  "  Mile.  Sembreuil,"  in  the  Phila- 
delphia Academy  of  Fine  Arts,  are  well-known 
works  of  Mr.  Julian  Story.  He  is  now  engaged 
in  painting  two  portraits  of  H.  R.  H.  the  Prince 
of  Wales.  Upon  July  31,  1891,  Mr.  Julian  Story 
was  married  to  Miss  Emma  Eames,  the  famous 
American  singer.  Madame  Eames  Story  has 
lately  been  decorated  with  the  jubilee  medal  by 
Her  Majesty  the  Queen  of  England  and  Empress 
of  India. 


XXXI. 

Statue     of    Helen.      Introduction    to    Wey  s 
Rome.      Cum^ean      Sibyl.      Statuettes      of 

Beethoven. 

(1872-1873.) 

A  woman  writes  thus  of  a  visit  to  Story's 
studio:  "  Passing  on,  you  meet  Helen  —  false,  fatal 
Helen!  What  beautiful  feet  she  has!  Not  pretty, 
but  beautiful  as  those  of  old  upon  the  mountains, 
who  brought  glad  tidings.  These  feet  are  full  of 
character.  The  form  is  not  spiritual,  neither  is  it 
sensuous;  and  the  face  is  not  noble  —  not  the  face 
of  Electra  —  but  the  face  of  Helen,  beneath 
whose  still  mask  of  fair  flesh  dreams  war,  suffer- 
ing, and  death.  Yes,  it  is  Helen  —  significant  of 
a  broken  vow,  a  violated  law,  a  disgraced  home." 

Mr.  Story,  writing  of  the  artist's  soul  and 
nature,  says:  "The  muses  and  the  graces  are  the 
artist's  friends,  legends  and  mythology  are  his 
guests,  and  all  are  welcome  who  come  from 
dreamland.  Where  he  goes  are  Orient  lights  and 
hues  dim  with  fancy,  and  Nature  takes  him  by 
the  hand  to  show  him  shades  of  color.  They  are 
lovers  —  the   artist   and   Nature  —  and   if    he   be 

(173) 


174        REMINISCENCES  OF  W.  W.  STORY. 

pledged  in  truth  to  his  royal  mistress  his  reward 
is  certain." 

Francis  Wey's  "  Rome  "  has  an  introduction  by 
W.  W.  Story,  who  therein  expresses  a  few  of  his 
own  thoughts  as  to  what  makes  Rome  the  delight 
it  is: 

"  The  tender  gradations  of  distance,  the  soft, 
luminous  sky,  the  delicate  light  and  color,  and  the 
refined  and  lovely  atmosphere  which  enfolds 
everything  with  a  veil  of  sentiment  and  romance, 
that  which  the  heart  of  man  feels  as  he  wanders 
over  the  ruins  of  Rome  or  muses  on  the  slopes  of 
the  Campagna,  and  which  he  remembers  after- 
ward as  one  remembers  a  perfume  or  a  tone. 
.  .  .  Everyone,  I  should  think,  would  be  glad 
to  have  a  copy  of  this  book,  who  loves  Rome  and 
can  afford  it.  But  I  must  not  say  more  lest  I 
arouse  the  envy  of  the  author  of  '  Robi  di  Roma,' 
who  has  secretly  confessed  to  me  that  he  has  been 
sorely  tempted  to  purloin  Mr.  Wey's  illustrations 

for  his  own  work. 

"  WT.  W.  Story.  . 
"To  the  publishers  of  Wey's  '  Rome.'" 

The  Cumaean  Sibyl,  the  insana  vates,  whom 
./Eneas  was  to  find  when  he  should  reach  Cumae — 
Divinesque  lacus  et  Averna  sonantia  sylvis ;  and 
who  fata  canit,  foliisque  notas  et  nomina  mandat. 

The   Standard  of  August,   1873,  says   of   this 


STATUE   OF   HELEN.  175 

work:  "The  new  statue  is  a  most  admirable  and 
suggestive  companion  to  the  statue  of  her  Libyan 
sister.  They  are  both  sitting  figures,  and  are  con- 
trasts not  so  much  by  difference  of  pose  as  by 
difference  of  expression  so  singularly  and  success- 
fully marked  as  to  constitute  the  pair  a  real 
psychological  study.  In  a  word,  the  Libyan  Sibyl 
is  the  embodiment  of  the  objective,  and  the 
Cumsean  of  the  subjective  action  and  attributes 
of  the  mind." 

The  face  of  the  Cumsean  Sibyl  rests  upon  the 
back  of  her  left  hand,  the  elbow  supported  by  a 
pile  of  loose  leaves,  which  in  their  turn  lie  upon  a 
fragment  of  architecturally  sculptured  marble. 
Her  head  is  bound  with  a  fringed  kerchief,  tied  at 
the  back.  She  is  draped  to  the  hips  with  a  pleas- 
ing simplicity  of  folds.  The  right  foot  and  knee 
are  drawn  backward,  and  the  right  hand  holds 
her  stylus  poised.  On  her  forehead  is  the  winged 
dragon,  the  emblem  of  Eternity.  She  is  pausing 
for  inspection;  so  also  is  her  sister  of  Lybia.  But 
the  Cumsean  prophetess  seeks  it  from  within. 
The  Libyan  seeress  gazes  with  intently  outlooking 
eyes  into  the  far  future.  The  Cumsean  is  watch- 
ing and  waiting  for  the  interpretations  of  fate, 
which  are  evolving  from  her  own  world  of  thought 
and  consciousness. 

These  years  added  two  statuettes  of  Beethoven 
to  the  list  of  Mr.  Story's  works  in  marble.     Much 


176         REMINISCENCES  OF  W.  W.  STORY. 

might  be  said  of  the  small,  strong,  standing  figure, 
but  nothing  more  appropriate  than  the  sculptor's 
own  words,  from  his  poem  upon  the  unveiling  of 
Crawford's  bronze  figure  of  the  great  musician,  at 
the  Boston  Music  Hall  in  1856: 

Lift  the  veil!  the  work  is  finished;  fresh  created  from  the 
hands 

Of  the  artist  —  grand  and  simple,  there  our  great  Beetho- 
ven stands. 

Clay  no  longer,  he  has  risen  from  the  buried  mold  of  earth 

To  a  marble  form,  transfigured  by  a  new  and  noble  birth. 

The  other  statuette  represents  Beethoven 
seated  and  lost  in  contemplation  of  some  musical 
idea  he  is  just  about  to  transfer  to  the  tablet  in 
his  hand.  One  day  a  musical  visitor  at  the  artist's 
studio  wrote  "  Fifth  Symphony  "  upon  a  piece  of 
paper  and  placed  it  on  this  tablet ;  a  gratifying 
incident,  for  this  composition  was  the  one  to  the 
idea  of  which  Story  had  modeled  his  statuette. 


XXXII. 

"Phryne  Before  the  Tribunal."     Roman  Law- 
yer in  Jerusalem.     Charles  Sumner. 

The  sculptor  chiseled  a  statue  of  Phryne  in 
1874,  and  the  poet  writes  of  her  and  Praxiteles 
thus: 

PRAXITELES  AND  PHRYNE. 

A  thousand  silent  years  ago 

The  starlight,  faint  and  pale, 
Was  drawing  on  the  sunset's  glow 

Its  soft  and  shadowy  veil, 

When  from  his  work  the  sculptor  stayed 

His  hand,  and  turned  to  one 
Who  stood  beside  him,  half  in  shade, 

And  sighing,  said,  "  Tis  done! 

"  Phryne,  thy  ruby  lips  shall  pale, 
Thy  rounded  limbs  decay, 
Nor  love  nor  prayers  can  aught  avail 
To  bid  thy  beauty  stay. 

"  When  all  our  hopes  and  fears  are  dead, 

And  both  our  hearts  are  cold, 
When  life  becomes  a  tune  that's  played, 

And  love  a  tale  that's  told, 
12  (177) 


178         REMINISCENCES  OF  W.  W.  STORY. 

"  And  then,  upon  thy  silent  face, 
Shall  unborn  ages  see 
Perennial  youth,  unfading  grace, 
And  sealed  serenity. 

"  And  strangers,  when  we  sleep  in  peace, 

Shall  say,  not  quite  unmoved: 
'  So  smiled  upon  Praxiteles, 

The  Phryne  whom  he  loved.'" 

"  A  Roman  Lawyer  in  Jerusalem.  A  Plea  for 
Judas  Iscariot."  First  century.  By  W.  W.  Story. 
1874.  This  is  the  title  of  a  most  ingenious  vindica- 
tion of  Judas  Iscariot.  This  poem,  in  blank  verse, 
is  based  upon  the  supposition  that  Judas  was  a 
worthy  and  trusted,  though  very  visionary,  man, 
having  a  perfect  and  profound  faith  in  the  all- 
powerful  God-head  of  Christ,  which  would,  when 
identified  by  the  kiss  of  betrayal,  reveal  itself  in 
the  material  glorification  of  his  Divine  Majesty  to 
the  utter  destruction  of  his  enemies.  No  such 
manifestation  coming  to  pass,  Judas  was  crazed 
with  grief  and  remorse,  and  when  the  other  dis- 
ciples fled,  he  came  into  the  judgment  hall  — 

And  with  a  shrill  voice  cried:  "  Take  back  the  sum! 
'Twas  not  for  that  foul  dross  I  did  the  deed. 
'Twas  not  for  that  —  oh,  horror!  not  for  that! 
But  that  I  did  believe  he  was  the  Lord; 
And  that  he  is  the  Lord  I  still  believe. 
But  oh,  the  sin!  the  sin!    I  have  betrayed 
The  innocent  blood,  and  I  am  lost!  am  lost!" 
So  crying,  round  his  face  his  robes  he  threw, 
And  blindly  rushed  away. 


"PHRYNE   BEFORE    THE  TRIBUNAL."     179 

Men  recollect  Story  as  the  intimate  friend  of 
Charles  Sumner  and  John  Lothrop  Motley.  His 
father  trained  Charles  Sumner  in  his  boyhood; 
the  son  cultivated  with  the  great  Senator  one  of 
those  friendships  which  only  minds  above  the 
common  level  are  capable  of  conceiving.  • 

When  asked  about  his  poem  on  Motley,  pub- 
lished in  the  Atlantic  MontJdy,  and  of  his  father's 
fondness  for  young  Charles  Sumner,  Mr.  Story 
replied:  "Both  of  these  gentlemen  were  very 
dear  friends  of  mine,  and  I  venerate  their  mem- 
ory. Both  were  high-minded  and  noble,  singu- 
larly pure  and  elevated  in  their  public  and  private 
lives,  and  eminently  worthy  of  the  highest  respect 
and  admiration  of  their  countrymen,  which  they 
possess  in  the  highest  degree.  I  remember  when 
I  was  a  boy,  the  fresh,  vivacious  letters  my  father 
used  to  receive  from  Sumner  while  he  was  abroad. 
Almost  every  post  brought  one.  They  were  full 
of  glowing  descriptions  of  the  young  man's  impres- 
sions, and  afforded  my  father  the  keenest  pleasure 
in  reading  them.  They  abounded  in  weighty 
information,  too,  for  in  that  day  few  Amer- 
icans were  familiar  with  Europe  or  its  doings. 
And  what  a  pure,  unspotted  life  the  young  man 
led!  How  he  realized  his  father's  predictions 
of  him!  Let  no  man  say  a  word  to  me  of  Sum- 
ner's double-dealing.  The  man  was  utterly  inca- 
pable of  it." 


180        REMINISCENCES  OF  W.  W.  STORY. 

Story's  "  In  Memoriam  "  to  Charles  Sumner  is  a 
touching  tribute  to  his  lifelong  friend.  I  give  a 
few  stanzas  from  it: 

*  For  years,  dear  friend,  but  rarely  had  we  met, 
Fate  in  a  different  path  our  feet  had  set. 

Space  stretched  between  us,  yet  you  still  were  near, 
And  friendship  had  no  shadows  of  regret. 

A  vaster  sea  divides  us  now  —  a  stretch 
Across  whose  space  we  vainly  strive  to  reach, 
Whose  deeps  man  passes  never  to  return, 
From  whose  far  shore  there  comes  no  human  speech. 

Gone  ?    What  is  gone,  and  whither  has  it  fled  ? 
What  means  this  dreadful  utterance  —  he  is  dead  ! 
What  is  this  strange  mysterious  tie  called  Life, 
That  bindeth  soul  to  sense  by  such  slight  thread  ? 

At  least  your  noble  thoughts  can  never  die; 
They  live  to  stir  and  lift  humanity  — 

They  live  to  sweeten  life  and  cheer  us  on; 
If  they  are  with  us,  surely  you  are  nigh. 

That  full  sonorous  voice,  whose  high-strung  Key 
Was  tuned  to  Justice  and  to  Liberty  — 

That  sounded  like  a  charge  to  rouse  the  world 
From  the  deep  slumber  of  its  apathy. 

Alas !  how  idle  are  the  words  we  say ! 
How  poor  the  tribute  on  your  grave  we  lay! 

Nor  praise  nor  blame  shall  cheer  or  trouble  more 
The  parted  Spirit  or  the  insensate  day. 


*  Page  324  of  Blackwood's,  September,  1874. 


XXXIII. 

Statues   "Alcestis"   and    "Lear."     Tragedies 
"Nero"  and  "Stephania." 

(1874-1876.) 

"Alcestis  "  is  the  statue  of  which  Mr.  Story  tells 
that  he  completely  changed  the  position  of  its 
head  from  that  of  its  model.  One  who  has  seen 
this  marble  writes:  "Story's  themes  are  often- 
est  classic  or  heroic.  You  find  Alcestis  in  his 
studio  just  as  she  returns  from  the  shadowy 
world,  whither  she  went  a  noble  voluntary  sacri- 
fice for  her  husband.  The  dawning  wonder  on 
her  sweet,  high-bred  face,  as  she  finds  herself 
again  on  earth,  is  finely  expressed,  and  you 
would  like  to  make  her  acquaintance,  because 
such  women  are  rare." 

Mr.  Story's  studio  has  been  called  "  a  pantheon 
of  humanity,"  where  one  sees  the  great  of  all 
ages  transfigured  with  a  deep  and  unwonted 
meaning  by  the  hands  of  genius.  The  undying 
offspring  of  the  artist's  love,  of  his  zeal,  per- 
chance of  his  grief,  stand  before  us  radiant  with 
perennial  life:  Lear  defying  the  storm  and  hurl- 
ing back   upon  its  fury  the  white   surges  of  his 

(18.) 


182         REMINISCENCES  OF  W.  W.  STORY. 

own  passion  and  despair;  Beethoven,  the  Jove  of 
music,  shaking  harmony  from  his  lion  locks;  and 
Jerusalem,  whose  sad  star  of  sorrow  has  never  set. 

Another  writes  thus  of  Mr.  Story's  versatility: 
"  Story  always  had  the  true  author's  gift  with  ink 
that  flows  to  suit  his  fancy  or  his  will."  Perhaps 
there  is  no  better  proof  of  these  words  than  the 
variety  of  subjects  upon  which  he  may  be  said  to 
have  written  successfully.  In  1875  ne  produced 
the  tragedy  of  "  Nero,"  which  he  himself  calls 
"a  closet  drama,"  meaning,  not  strictly  a  stage 
play.  In  it  the  author  neither  curtains  nor  inten- 
sifies the  crimes  of  the  characters,  nor  the  horrors 
of  their  situation,  but  in  all  truth  gives  them 
their  proper  value  before  the  world. 

Save  to  his  personal  friends  or  to  those  who 
were  especially  interested,  Mr.  Story  seldom  spoke 
of  his  own  works.  To  the  public  at  large,  or  to 
the  simply  idle  or  curious,  he  would  say:  "  I  do 
not  care  to  speak  of  my  work.  It  is  done,  good 
and  bad,  and  I  prefer,  like  all  artists,  to  let  it  speak 
for  itself." 

The  tragedy  of  "  Stephania  "  was  written  and 
privately  printed  in  1876.  Of  this,  Mr.  Story  him- 
self says: 

"  It  is  surprising  to  me  that  the  subject  has 
never  been  seized  upon  before,  though  to  be  sure 
it  is  scarcely  familiar.  All  readers  of  early  Italian 
history,  however,  know  it,  and  as  for  me,  it  has 


"NERO"  AND   "STEPHANIA."  183 

always  filled  me  with  the  most  stirring  interest. 
The  plot  is  simple,  too.  When  the  Emperor  Otho 
came  down  to  Rome,  he  besieged  the  Consul  Cres- 
centius  in  his  castle,  but  was  unable  to  dislodge 
him.  Finally  he  promised  that  if  Crescentius  would 
give  up  his  castle,  he  would  permit  him  and  his  fol- 
lowers free  passage  through  the  imperial  lines  to 
a  place  of  safety.  The  consul  accepted,  came  out 
in  good  faith,  and  was  immediately  seized  upon 
and  hung  upon  the  battlements  by  the  young, 
fiery,  and  unscrupulous  Otho.  But  Otho  was 
immediately  afterward  seized  with  the  direst 
remorse,  and  undertook  all  means  of  expiation. 

"Among  those  who  came  to  him  was  Stepha- 
nia,  the  wife  of  the  murdered  consul.  She  came 
in  the  disguise  of  a  man;  her  object  was  to  kill 
her  husband's  murderer.  Otho  fell  in  love  with 
Stephania,  made  her  his  mistress  and  promised  to 
raise  her  to  the  throne.  She  stayed  her  hand 
from  his  murder,  promoted  by  ambition.  He 
grew  tired  of  her,  married  a  Greek  princess,  and 
died  before  she  could  accomplish  her  revenge. 

"  The  historical  natures  of  the  two  principal 
parties  are  full  of  suggestion.  Both  Otho  and 
Stephania  were  filled  with  the  intensest  and  most 
contrary  passions,  and  these,  with  the  occasion 
given  for  their  exercise,  give  the  dramatist  a  fine 
field.  It  is  an  acting  play  —  it  has  human  interest 
attaching  to  it." 


XXXIV. 

Marriage  of  Mr.  Story's  Daughter. 

On  the  7th  of  February,  1876,  Mr.  Story  gave 
his  only  daughter,  Edith  Marion,  in  marriage  to 
Marquis  Simone  Peruzzi  di  Medici,  of  that  old 
Florentine  family  whose  name,  historic  through 
centuries,  had  been* further  distinguished  by  the 
art  of  Baldasare  Peruzzi,  and  of  Giotto,  who 
immortalized  it  in  the  chapel  of  the  Peruzzi,  in 
the  church  of  Sante  Croce,  Florence,  was  well 
bestowed  on  the  daughter  of  such  an  artist  as 
Story. 

Of  such  artists  as  Giotto,  Story  wrote  : 

The  seeking  heart  alone  shall  find 
The  germs  in  Nature's  bosom  hidden, 

And  to  the  loving,  prayerful  mind 
The  shape  of  beauty  comes  unbidden. 

But  happiest  is  his  peaceful  part 
To  whom  the  lofty  task  is  given 

To  plant  within  the  field  of  art 
The  seeds  that  blossom  up  to  heaven. 

So  Giotto's  tower  seems  a  florescence  of  the 

shepherd  boy's  nature  culminating  in  the  art  that 

"  blossoms  up  to  heaven  "  in  the  Piazza  del  Duomo 

of  fair  Florence. 

(184) 


XXXV. 

Visit  to  America — Boston,  New  York,  Washing- 
ton, Philadelphia.  Lecture.  Social  Cour- 
tesies.   Washington  Monument. 

(1877-1878.) 

Mr.  Story's  reception  on  his  visit  to  America 
in  1877  was  an  ovation  from  his  many  friends 
and  admirers.  Of  the  event  the  Boston  Herald 
speaks  as  follows: 

"  After  an  absence  of  twelve  years,  Mr.  W.  W. 
Story  has  returned  for  a  brief  period,  and  has 
been  staying  with  a  friend  on  Beacon  Street. 
All  the  Boston  gentlemen  of  the  old  regime 
remember  him  as  the  son  of  Judge  Story,  about 
whom  Wendell  Phillips  never  tires  of  talking. 
Mr.  Story  has  reputation  enough  to  be  remem- 
bered by  all.  With  some  he  is  known  as  the  poet 
who  sings  sweetly,  with  others  he  is  proudly 
remembered  as  one  of  the  first  American  sculp- 
tors. His  judgment  and  ability  as  a  musician  are 
excellent.  He  is,  as  it  were,  a  modern  Michael 
Angelo. 

"  He    is    perfectly    acquainted   with    London, 

(185) 


1 86         REMINISCENCES  OF  W.  W.  STORY. 

Paris,  Rome,  and  Florence,  but  he  says  with  the 
utmost  simplicity:  'This  is  one  of  the  most 
beautiful  cities  in  the  world;  and  to  think  of  it! 
where  we  are  now  sitting  (199  Beacon  Street) 
was  little  better  than  a  morass  when  I  saw  it 
before.' 

"When  asked  as  to  matters  of  art  in  Italy, 
Mr.  Story  replied:  'It  is  a  great  subject — my  head 
is  full  of  it.  For  twenty  years  I  have  been  in 
Italy,  chiefly  in  Rome.  I  am  acquainted  with  all 
the  artists,  more  or  less,  and  am  familiar,  to  a 
greater  or  less  extent,  with  all  the  movements  in 
art,  its  growth  and  development.  Since  Rome 
has  become  the  capital  of  Italy,  she  has  become 
more  and  more  an  art  center.  There  is  a  thor- 
ough spirit  of  art  preservation,  too;  the  excava- 
tions that  have  been  made  have  resulted  in  the 
recovery  of  many  interesting  objects  which  have 
been  carefully  preserved  by  the  numerous  archae- 
ological societies.'" 

In  these  societies  Mr.  Story  was  himself  a  prom- 
inent factor,  giving  lectures  from  time  to  time. 
His  name,  in  fact,  was  listed  for  one  during  the 
spring  before  his  death.  Speaking  of  art  and 
artists  in  the  Eternal  City,  he  remarked: 

"  I  should  say  by  all  odds  that  Rome  is  the  best 
place  artists  or  sculptors  could  visit.  The  in- 
fluence of  the  Spanish  school  of  painting  is  being 
strongly  felt,  particularly  among  the  Italian  artists 


VISIT  TO  AMERICA.  187 

who  have  caught  its  bold,  dashing  effects  and 
brilliant  colorings.  Fortuny,  the  late  lamented 
artist,  was  a  noted  exponent  of  this  school.  He 
had  not  a  long  life,  and  his  success  only  came 
toward  its  latest  years.  Of  the  French  school, 
Henri  Regnault,  also  dead,  was  perhaps  unsur- 
passed." 

Regarding  his  plans,  Mr.  Story  said: 

"My  friends  have  urged  me,  since  my  return, 
to  prepare  and  deliver  a  lecture  on  the' subject  of 
art  here,  and  I  intend  to  do  so  in  the  course  of 
two  or  three  weeks,  if  I  have  time.  I  am  going 
away  now  to  New  York,  Philadelphia,  Baltimore, 
and  Washington." 

A  most  cordial  welcome  was  extended  to  Mr. 
Story  in  his  native  city.  Private  houses  and  the 
club-house  doors  were  thrown  wide  open  to  him, 
the  Union  and  the  Somerset  clubs  taking  the 
lead. 

In  New  York,  where  new  honors  and  pleasures 
awaited  him,  his  arrival  was  noticed  as  follows: 

"  Mr.  W.  W.  Story,  the  sculptor,  is  stopping  at 
the  Brevoort  House.  With  him  is  one  of  his 
sons,  a  young  man  of  twenty-two,  who  visits 
his  father's  country  for  the  first  time.  Mr. 
Story  has  two  other  children,  one  a  student  of 
Oxford,  England,  and  the  other  a  daughter, 
who  is  married  and  settled  in  Florence.  Mrs. 
Story  is  in  Rome. 


188         REMINISCENCES  OF  W.  W.  STORY. 

"He  is  a  man  in  the  very  prime  of  life,  full,  to 
all  appearances,  of  health,  fire,  and  vigor.  He  is 
rather  above  middle  height,  robust  and  round,  but 
not  heavy  in  figure,  quick  and  nervous  in  manner, 
flushed  cheeks,  sparkling  eyes,  a  fine  mass  of  gray 
hair  crowning  a  solid  forehead,  thick  mustache 
and  imperial.  The  gray  mustache  curls  con- 
stantly with  laughter  when  he  talks.  Mr.  Story, 
in  speaking,  made  unusual  use  of  the  English  lan- 
guage, permitting  his  voice  to  fall  at  periods,  as  in 
nature  it  should  do,  putting  in  abundant  emphasis 
and  intonation." 

This  is  a  pen  picture  of  the  poet-artist  at  the 
age  of  fifty-six  years.  At  seventy  he  preserved 
much  the  same  appearance.  Of  a  later  visit,  in 
1882,  Colonel  Higginson  writes: 

"  I  met  William  Story  at  Brattleboro,  Vt.,  on 
one  of  his  last  visits  to  this  country,  and  never 
saw  a  man  so  young  at  his  age;  he  had  all  the 
vivacity  of  his  early  days,  and  went  off  on  an  all- 
day  shooting  expedition  like  a  boy.  This  was 
what  I  had  always  heard  of  him,  but  the  reality 
went  beyond  my  expectation." 

A  New  York  friend  says: 

"  He  was  pleased  and  delighted  with  the  strides 
of  progress  and  marvelous  improvement  of  the 
great  New  World,  and  expressed  himself  so 
with  all  the  enthusiasm  of  youth.  This  is  what 
he  said: 


VISIT  TO   AMERICA.  189 

"  '  You  ask  me  if  I  find  anything  to  please  me. 
I  find  everything.  Dear  me!  what  strides  have 
been  taken  since  I  was  here.  The  houses  have 
been  pushed  way  out  into  districts  that  I  never 
dreamed  would  be  anything-  else  than  country 
forever.  I  didn't  know  Boston  at  all;  it  is  a  new 
city  since  I  saw  it  last.  I  find  on  every  hand 
matters  to  wonder  at  and  admire.' 

"  He  was  quizzingly  asked  if  he  referred  to 
art  and  architecture,  and  replied:  'Why,  yes, 
I  think  Americans  have  great  capabilities  for 
and  appreciation  of  art.  You  can  not  expect 
creative  art  to  spring  up  full-fledged.  I  haven't 
seen  the  "  Indian  Hunter  "  of  Randolph  Rogers. 
I  understand  it  is  an  excellent  group,  and  I 
mean  to  see  it.  Rogers'  little  things  are  charm- 
ing—  charming.' " 

In  November,  Mr.  Story  received  the  following 
letter: 

"William  W.  Story,  Esq.  % 

"Dear  Sir:  We  hear  with  pleasure  that  you 
have  thrown  into  the  form  of  a  popular  lecture 
your  views  of  art,  and  the  conditions  of  its 
successful  development.  As  we  have  no  doubt 
that  such  a  lecture  would  have  both  interest 
and  value  for  the  public  of  this  city,  we  hope 
that  you  may  find  it  convenient  during  your 
present  brief  visit  to  New  York  to  make  arrange- 


190         REMINISCENCES  OF  W.  W.  STORY. 

ments  for  delivering-   it   here;    and  we   are   very 

truly, 

"  Your  obedient  servants, 

"  Bayard  Taylor, 

"John  Jay, 

"  H.  W.  Bellows, 

"  Albert  Bierstadt, 

"  Frederic  E.  Church, 

"  S.  L.  M.  Barlow, 

"  Henry  C.  Potter, 

"  Marshall  O.  Roberts, 

"Wm.  H.  Appleton. 

"  New  York,  November  5,  1877." 

Mr.  Story's  answer  was  as  follows: 

"Gentlemen:  I  have  just  received  your  letter 
of  to-day,  in  which  you  are  kind  enough  to  ex- 
press a  desire  that  I  should  read  to  the  public 
of  New  York  a  lecture  embodying  my  views  of 
art  and  the  conditions  of  its  successful  devel- 
opment. 

"  I  feel  highly  nattered  by  this  request,  to 
which  I  readily  accede,  hoping  that  I  may  be  able 
to  say  something  on  the  subject  which  may  be  of 
interest. 

"  I  have  the  honor,  gentlemen,  to  be 
"  Your  obedient  servant, 

"  W.  W.  Story. 

"  Brevoort  House,  New  York,  November  5,  1877." 


VISIT  TO  AMERICA.  191 

The  New  York  World  of  November  15  th  thus 
describes  the  audience  which  greeted  the  lec- 
turer: 

"  Chickering  Hall  overflowed  to  Mr.  Story  last 
evening,  upon  the  occasion  of  his  '  Lecture  on 
Art,'  and  included  in  the  large  audience  were 
many  well  known  and  distinguished  people  of  the 
city,  whose  quick  intelligence  and  liberal  culture 
put  them  in  full  sympathy  with  the  lecturer." 

The  lecture  was  in  part  as  follows: 

"  I  propose,  in  the  hour  we  spend  together,  to 
carry  you  back  of  the  world  of  work  into  the 
world  of  art,  to  transport  you  to  Greece  and  Italy 
—  of  the  imagination,  not  those  of  prose  and  fact. 
These  names  are  the  symbols  and  watchwords  of 
art. 

"  Transfigured  against  the  dark  background  of 
history,  the  art  of  Greece  and  Rome  blaze  with 
splendor.  Their  policies  and  wars  pale  in  the 
light  of  art.  Marathon  itself  is  dimmed  by  the 
side  of  the  Parthenon.  The  lives  of  Sophocles 
and  Euripides  still  live  to  stir  us,  and  the  Zeus  of 
Phidas,  though  it  has  perished,  stands  a  tower 
and  lighthouse  in  the  domain  of  art  to  cheer  and 
point  our  career. 

"  So  it  is  in  the  Renaissance  in  Italy.  What 
are  the  dukes  and  doges,  the  captains  and  mighty 
men,  in  comparison  with  the  peaceful  figures  in 
the  reign  of  art  ? 


192         REMINISCENCES  OF  W.  W.  STORY. 

"What  was  Leo  the  Great  or  Lorenzo  the 
Magnificent  in  comparison  with  Michael  Angelo 
and  Raphael  ?  What  are  the  leaders  of  the  Re- 
public without  Dante,  whom  they  drove  into 
exile  ?  Princes  and  leaders  of  the  republic  are 
dust,  and  the  merchants'  gold  has  vanished,  ex- 
cept that  which  is  preserved  by  art;  a  hundred 
powerful  names  remain  only  through  statues 
made  by  artists,  and  none  else.  They  are  the 
Renaissance. 

"The  beginning  of  art  is  easy.  As  the  artist 
advances,  the  horizon  becomes  larger;  the  higher 
he  ascends,  the  more  precipitous  the  cliffs  rise 
above  him.  He  never  reaches  the  summit  which 
does  but  dwarf  all  below  him,  and  opens  the  view 
to  nobler  heights  above.  To  keep  up  that  en- 
thusiasm is  to  hold  the  keys  to  success.  The 
tendency  of  the  age  is  to  rest  satisfied  with  its 
attainments,  and  thus  it  falls  into  mannerisms. 
Nature  never  gives;  she  exacts  strict  pay.  Every- 
where there  is  a  desperate  wall  to  bar  progress. 
Early  facility  is  often  mistaken  for  genius.  In- 
domitable will  constitutes  four-fifths  of  genius. 
Easy  reading,  as  Sheridan  said,  is  very  hard  writ- 
ing. If  creative  power  be  wanting,  nothing  great 
can  be  accomplished. 

"The  character  of  art  varies  with  the  con- 
ditions of  every  country.  Art  never  flourished 
under  despotism,  but  only  under  the  auspices  of 


VISIT  TO  AMERICA.  193 

liberty.  It  was  at  the  culmination  of  liberty  in 
Greece  that,  suddenly,  art  burst  into  flower  with 
a  splendor  never  before  seen. 

"Transplanted  to  Rome,  art  was  an  exotic. 
Adrian  sought  to  found  a  Roman  school,  but 
Rome,  as  Rome,  produced  no  great  artists.  At 
the  Renaissance,  the  republics  of  Italy  were  alive 
with  free  ideas,  out  of  which  sprang  noble  crea- 
tions of  art. 

"  In  corrupt  ages  art  is  the  handmaid  of 
luxury,  not  the  interpreter  of  religion. 

"The  question  which  is  the  higher,  painting 
or  sculpture,  is  a  vain  one.  Sculpture  is  at  once 
more  positive  and  the  more  ideal.  Nothing  cam 
save  it  from  being  commonplace  except  its  ideal 
character. 

"  We  must  clear  our  minds  of  the  idea  that  art 
is  an  illusion.  Art  is  never  false,  but  scrupulously 
true;  it  should  be  the  master,  not  the  slave. 

"A  servile  imitation  of  nature  results  in 
nothing.  The  great  vice  of  modern  art  is  its  over- 
fidelity  to  literal  details. 

"  Art  is  not  a  low,  idle  trade,  as  practical  men 
sometimes  insist.  Rightly  followed,  nothing  is 
nobler  and  higher.  What  better  object  in  life  can 
a  man  have  than  an  occupation  that  lifts  the  soul, 
transfigures  nature,  and  makes  beauty  a  daily 
friend,  while  it  adds  to  the  pure  enjoyment  of 
one's  fellow-men  ? 

13 


194         REMINISCENCES  OF  W.  W.  STORY. 

"  What  is  the  use  of  art?  you  will  ask.  What 
is  the  use  of  the  flower,  of  a  glorious  sunset,  the 
light  and  shade  of  a  distant  mountain?  God 
might  have  made  the  world  blank  and  gray;  but 
how  would  the  spirit  be  fed  ?  He  might  have 
made  the  world  without  love  and  poetry.  To 
man  without  this  sixth  sense,  how  dull  this  world 
must  be!  Use,  forsooth!  What  is  the  use  of 
anything? 

"Art  requires  the  severest  training  of  work, 
work  which  is  the  demigod  of  this  world. 

"  The  pleasure  of  success  is  a  great  stimulant, 
not  success  in  point  of  money,  though  some  money, 
of  course;  for  the  saying  of  Goldsmith  applies: 
'  For  he  who  lives  to  please  must  please  to  live,' 
but  success  in  point  of  achievement.  A  single 
flower  of  praise  to  the  living  genius  is  worth  a 
hundred  garlands  on  the  tomb.  And  blessed  are 
those  who  praise  us  while  we  live. 

"  No  perfect  work  was  ever  made,  or  ever  will 
be  made.  Success  is  a  relative  term.  It  is  not 
victory  but  the  battle  that  delights. 

"  There  are  two  kinds  of  art.  One  is  the  hand- 
maid of  ignorance.  It  follows  where  Plutus  nods. 
It  is  of  the  earth  earthy.  God  save  us  from  such 
art!  But  there  is  another  kind  which  has  the  face 
and  shape  of  an  angel  and  the  form  of  the  gods. 
It  is  the  sister  of  religion.  It  calls  its  followers  to 
a  great  mission.     It  is  the  interpreter  of  the  high 


VISIT  TO  AMERICA.  195 

and  pure.  Its  material  is  humanity.  One  is  the 
drudge  of  the  temple ;  the  other  is  its  priest  and 
hierophant." 

Mr.  Story  had  invitations  to  read  his  lecture  on 
Art  in  New  Haven,  in  Syracuse,  and  elsewhere. 
As  a  consequence  of  his  Washington  lecture,  Mr. 
Story  was  summoned  before  the  Committee  on 
Public  Buildings  to  give  his  views  regarding  the 
Washington  Monument.  The  event  and  the 
design  requested  of  him  are  described  thus: 

"  Mr.  W.  W.  Story,  the  artist,  gave  his  views  to 
a  Senate  committee  yesterday,  in  regard  to  com- 
pleting the  Washington  Monument  in  its  present 
shape,  and  also  in  regard  to  the  building. 

"The  original  design  was  never  looked  upon 
with  much  favor  by  persons  qualified  to  pro- 
nounce judgment  as  to  its  merits.  Those  who 
have  been  aware  of  this  fact  were  not  surprised 
to  hear  that  Mr.  Story,  when  consulted  by  the 
Committee  on  Public  Buildings,  advised  them  to 
abandon  the  idea  of  completing  it  as  originally 
designed.  He  thought  the  plan  might  be  modi- 
fied so  as  to  make  the  work  an  ornament  to 
the  city.  He  deserves  special  thanks  for  having 
emphatically  condemned  the  proposition  to  use 
the  present  structure  as  a  base  for  a  statue  of 
Washington. 

"  We  believe  the  nation  has  now  escaped  the 


196         REMINISCENCES   OF  W.  W.  STORY. 

peril  of  having  that  structure  made  a  huge  speci- 
men of  American  bad  taste. 
"Tuesday,  December  14,  1877." 

The  following  letter  conveys  the  request  of  the 
committee: 

"  United  States  Senate  Chamber,  January  7,  1878. 
"Mr.  W.  W.  Story. 

"Dear  Sir:  At  a  meeting  of  the  Joint  Com- 
mittee on  Public  Buildings  and  Grounds,  Decem- 
ber 5,  1877,  a  resolution  was  passed  requesting 
Mr.  Story  to  furnish  model  and  plan  for  the  com- 
pletion of  the  Washington  Monument. 

"  I  send  you  this  abstract  of  the  record  of  the 
committee  at  the  request  of  Senator  Morrill. 
"  Respectfully  yours, 

"Geo.  W.  Wales, 
"  Clerk  Senate  Committee." 

In  consideration  of  the  above  request  Mr. 
Story,  upon  his  return  to  Europe,  forwarded  a 
design  made  by  him;  also  these  remarks  quoted 
from  the  public  press: 

"In  making  the  design,  which  I  have  for- 
warded to  Mr.  Morrill,  I  have  founded  it  upon  the 
existing  fabric,  having  understood  that  it  would 
be  worse  than  useless  to  make  a  design  which 
would  not  take  into  account  and  utilize  what  had 
already  been  done.     The  monument  as  it  stands  I 


VISIT   TO   AMERICA.  197 

took  as  the  core  of  my  structure,  encasing  it  with 
the  colored  marble  in  which  America  is  so  rich, 
and  changing  its  character  into  a  tower  with  a 
portico  at  its  base.  In  front  of  this  porch,  or 
rather  beneath  it,  I  placed  a  colossal  statue  of 
Washington  within  reach  of  the  eye,  so  that  it 
could  be  seen  in  all  its  details  as  the  commanding 
feature  of  the  front.  On  the  opposite  side  I  pro- 
posed a  statue  of  '  Liberty,'  achieved  by  Washing- 
ton for  his  country,  and  on  the  two  sides  great 
bronze  doors  figured  over  with  the  principal 
events  of  the  Revolution,  and  the  portraits  of  the 
distinguished  men  of  the  period,  the  coadjutors  of 
Washington.  '  Fame,'  on  the  top  of  the  tower,  in 
gilt  bronze,  the  spiritual  essence  of  life;  he  him- 
self, at  the  base,  the  corporal  presence." 

There  followed  some  correspondence  upon  this 
subject,  but  upon  investigation  it  was  found  that 
the  Committee  on  Public  Buildings  had  pledged 
themselves  beyond  recall  to  the  monumental 
work  already^in  progress  —  an  Egyptian  obelisk  — 
between  which  and  George  Washington  it  is  diffi- 
cult to  discover  any  connection  whatever.  When 
standing  in  its  meaningless  presence,  it  is  melan- 
choly to  think  what  might  have  been  intelligently 
done  to  the  honor  and  glory  of  the  Father  of  his 
Country  in  the  name  of  the  American  people. 

Upon  Mr.  Story's  return  to  New  York  from  his 
trip  to  Washington  he  became  the  recipient  of  a 


198         REMINISCENCES  OF  W.  W.  STORY. 

delightful  tribute  of  affectionate  regard  from  one 
of  his  old  Salem  friends;  a  press  account  of  it  is  as 
follows: 

"  A  Christmas  Eve  reception  to  Mr.  Story, 
December  24,  1877. — The  lower  floors  of  the  Bre- 
voort  House  were  turned  last  night  into  the  like- 
ness of  a  great  private  mansion.  A  temporary 
marquee,  guarded  by  polite  but  wide-a-wake 
policemen,  was  erected  at  the  Eighth  Street 
entrance,  and  from  ten  o'clock  onward  the  street 
was  crowded  with  carriages  bringing  up  in  rapid 
succession  the  representatives  of  the  fashionable, 
the  financial,  literary,  and  even  the  political  world 
of  New  York  to  pay  the  homage  of  their  admira- 
tion and  respect  to  an  artist  who,  not  less  by  the 
simplicity  and  amiability  of  his  character  than  by 
the  versatility  of  his  genius,  has  done  his  country 
lasting  honor  and  built  himself  a  name  which 
Americans  will  not  willingly  let  die. 

"  The  opportunity  which  was  thus  seized  upon 
to  show  Mr.  Story  how  high  a  place  he  holds  in 
the  esteem  of  his  fellow-citizens  was  furnished  by 
Mr.  and  Mrs.  Theodore  Shillaber,  now  residing  at 
the  Brevoort  House,  who  issued,  more  than  a  week 
ago,  their  invitations  to  a  farewell  reception  in  his 
honor. 

"  Mr.  Shillaber  was  a  schoolmate  of  Mr.  Story's 
in  boyhood,  in  Salem,  Mass.,  and  they  spent  much 
of  their  time  together  during  the  artist's  visit  in 


VISIT  TO  AMERICA.  199 

New  York.  Mr.  Shillaber  is  a  cousin  of  B.  P. 
Shillaber  (Mrs.  Partington),  of  the  Saturday  Even- 
ing Gazette,  Boston. 

"The  publication  yesterday  morning  in  The 
World  of  a  careful  sketch  of  Mr.  Story's  new 
tragedy  of  '  Stephania,'  with  copious  extracts, 
added  greatly  to  the  interest  of  the  occasion;  and 
one  of  the  earliest  arrivals  was  the  venerable 
patriarch  of  American  poets,  Mr.  William  Cullen 
Bryant,  who  had  much  to  say  in  his  most  felicitous 
way  of  Mr.  Story's  latest  contribution  to  American 
letters. 

"  Among  the  guests  were  Bayard  Taylor, '  Sam  ' 
Ward  (the  brother  of  Julia  Ward  Howe,  and  the 
'  King  of  the  Lobby,'  as  he  is  sometimes  called), 
Mr.  Charles  O'Conor,  Mr.  Abram  Hewitt,  Gov- 
ernor Tilden,  and  others.  Among  the  ladies  were 
the  daughters  of  two  well-known  poets — General 
George  P.  Morris  and  Samuel  Woodworth,  the 
authors  respectively  of  'Woodman,  Spare  That 
Tree,'  and  '  The  Old  Oaken  Bucket.'  " 

The  sculptor  sailed  for  Europe  shortly  after 
this  date,  carrying  with  him  delightful  remem- 
brances of  the  old  friendships  renewed  and  new 
friendships  to  be  continued  throughout  his  life. 

Mrs.  Lew  Wallace  has  written  of  him  recently: 
"It  is  said  that  the  duration  of  a  man's  friend- 
ships is  the  measure  of  his  worth.  The  gracious 
power  of  making   friends  was  laid,   with   other 


soo         REMINISCENCES  OF  W.  W.  STORY. 

ancestral  gifts,  in  his  cradle.  From  the  highest 
to  the  lowliest,  his  friends  never  dropped  from 
their  allegiance." 

It  is  pleasant  to  note  that  the  honor  which  Mr. 
Story  received  in  the  New  World  was  a  well- 
spring  of  joy  and  of  pleasure  to  his  Italian  friends. 


XXXVI. 

John  Lothrop  Motley.     In  Memoriam.     Castle 
St.  Angelo  and  Evil  Eye.     Clytemnestra. 

(1877-1878.) 

In  speaking  of  John  Lothrop  Motley,  Mr. 
Story  says:  "  He  was  my  dear  friend.  I  am 
familiar  with  his  mind.  I  was  acquainted  with 
the  very  current  of  his  thoughts.  We  met  fre- 
quently in  Europe.  He  was  one  of  the  noblest 
men  I  ever  beheld.  I  saw  him  in  London  after 
his  removal.  Said  I,  *  How  did  it  happen?'  He 
replied,  sadly,  '  You  know  as  much  about  it  as  I 
do.'  This  removal,  which  occurred  when  Mr. 
Motley  was  our  minister  to  England  in  1870,  was 
held  by  his  friends  to  be  wholly  unwarranted,  and 
proved  a  sad  blow  to  the  brilliant  author  of  '  The 
Dutch  Republic' " 

In  the  October  number  of  the  Atlantic,  1877, 
is  a  poem  written  by  Mr.  Story  upon  Motley's 
death.  Dr.  Oliver  Wendell  Holmes  included  it 
in  his  "  Memorial  of  John  Lothrop  Motley,"  to- 
gether with  one  stanza  of  William  Cullen  Bry- 
ant's upon  the  same  subject.     The  following  lines 

are  taken  from  Mr.  Story's  tribute: 

(201) 


202        REMINISCENCES  OF  W.  W.  STORY. 
JOHN  LOTHROP  MOTLEY. 

IN   MEMORIAM. 

Farewell,  dear  friend!  For  us  the  grief  and  pain, 

Who  shall  not  see  thy  loving  face  again; 

For  us  the  sad  yet  noble  memories 

Of  lofty  thoughts,  of  upward-looking  eyes, 

Of  warm  affections,  of  a  spirit  bright 

With  glancing  fancies,  and  a  radiant  light, 

That,  flashing,  throws  around  all  common  things 

Heroic  halos  and  imaginings: 

Nothing  of  this  can  fade  while  life  shall  last, 

But  brighten  with  death's  shadow  o'er  it  cast. 

Ah,  noble  spirit,  whither  hast  thou  fled? 

What  dost  thou  amongst  the  unnumbered  dead? 

Oh,  say  not  'mid  the  dead,  for  what  hast  thou 

Among  the  dead  to  do?    No!  rather  now, 

If  faith  and  hope  are  not  a  wild  deceit, 

The  truly  living  thou  hast  gone  to  meet  — 

The  noble  spirits  purged  by  death,  whose  eye 

O'erpeers  the  brief  bounds  of  mortality — 

And  they  behold  thee  rising  from  afar, 

Serenely,  clear  above  time's  cloudy  bar, 

And  greet  thee  as  we  greet  a  rising  star. 

Mr.  Story  modeled  a  bust  of  this  friend,  so  well 
beloved  by  him. 

It  was  in  1877  that  "Castle  St.  Angelo  "  and 
"  The  Evil  Eye  "  were  published  by  Chapman  & 
Hall,  London,  and  also  in  Philadelphia.  Of  this 
volume  The  Academy  of  August  18,  1877,  gives 
the  following  notice: 

"A  book  by  the  author  of  '  Roba  di  Roma,'  on 
a  subject  so  rich  in  associations  as  the  old  mauso- 


JOHN   LOTHROP   MOTLEY.  203 

leum  of  Hadrian,  could  not  be  otherwise  than 
intelligently  written.  Mr.  Story  has,  however,  not 
confined  himself  to  a  merely  circumstantial  state- 
ment of  that  alone  which,  strictly  speaking, 
belongs  to  the  history  of  this  monument,  but  has 
rather  made  it  the  nucleus  or  center  around  which 
to  group  some  account  of  the  political  condition 
and  contentions  of  the  factions  of  Rome  during 
the  Middle  Ages. 

"  The  second  part  is  an  essay  on  '  The  Evil  Eye.' 
It  is  a  work  of  considerable  research,  and  is  alto- 
gether a  valuable  addition  to  our  knowledge  of 
this  branch  of  folk-lore.  The  history  of  the 
superstition  has  been  well  illustrated,  with  abun- 
dant references  to  the  Greek,  Latin,  and  Italian 
writers." 

Mr.  Story,  on  being  asked,  "  Which  do  you  like 
the  better,  your  chiseling  or  your  writing  ? " 
replied: 

"  I  love  them  both;  I  can  put  my  whole  heart 
into  either  of  them.  I  am  a  pretty  rapid  worker 
on  my  marble,  though  I  am  a  careful  one — that 
is  to  say,  I  finish  minutely.  When  I  have  my  idea 
and  lay  my  chisel  to  the  work  I  can't  bear  to  stop. 
I  feel  an  utter  enthusiasm  about  the  thing,  and 
am  eager  to  have  it  out.  I  work  my  models  with 
great  care,  and  finish  them  perfectly.  I  suppose  I 
might  let  the  stone  be  cut  by  other  hands  if  I 
could  find  other  hands  to  suit  me;  not  but  what 


204         REMINISCENCES   OF  W.  W.  STORY. 

they  would  copy  my  model  accurately,  but  I  do 
not  feel  bound  to  copy  my  model.  Don't  you  see 
how  much  freer  I  am  than  they  could  be  ?  If  I 
want  a  line  different  —  a  blow,  and  there  it  is. 
Sometimes  I  have  my  model's  head  quite  turned 
when  my  marble  is  completed.  'Alcestis,'  which  is 
my  last  completed  work,  has  a  head  as  unlike  her 
model  as  you,can  think,  though  the  model  is  scru- 
pulously finished.  '  Clytemnestra,'  upon  which  I 
am  engaged  at  present,  is  another  which  I  have 
changed  as  fancy  has  led  me,  while  the  chisel  has 
been  in  my  hand.  I  can't  bear  to  be  bound  by 
settled  lines  before  I  have  begun.  If  I  wished, 
half-way,  to  change  'Medusa'  into  'Venus,'  I 
should  do  it.  I  follow  my  own  bent  and  believe 
my  work  is  better  for  it.  I  could  not  work  in  any 
other  way.     I  hate  perfunctory  labor." 

A  saying  of  Mr.  Story's  was:  "  Sculptors  pro- 
fess much  admiration  for  my  writings,"  and  he 
would  add  with  a  quizzical  smile:  "Poets  amia- 
bly admit  that  my  great  talent  lies  in  my  sculp- 
ture." But  another  said  of  him:  "The  world 
generally  held  that  he  had  won  preeminence  in 
both  fields." 

The  "  Clytemnestra  "  referred  to  above  is  rep- 
resented life-size,  standing  with  folded  arms  after 
having  committed  the  murder  of  her  husband, 
Agamemnon.  Her  gaze  is  fixed  upon  the  husband 
whom  she  has  slain,  and  her  face  is  expressive  of 


JOHN   LOTHROP  MOTLEY.  205 

intense  hatred,  undying  revenge,  and  awful  joy; 
she  is  not  sorry,  she  is  glorying  in  the  deed. 

From  the  pen  of  a  gifted  writer  comes  the 
following  words  on  Story's  originality:  "In  their 
power  to  idealize  truthfully  lay  the  charm  of  the 
Greek  sculptors  and  architects.  Their  ruined 
temples  at  Psestum  are  to-day  immortal  music 
in  stone,  and  the  American  sculptor,  Story, 
in  my  mind,  has  made  the  nearest  approach 
to  the  ancient  Greek  inspiration  in  marble  of  any 
modern  artist.  Not  by  imitating  them,  for  I  do 
not  remember  one  copy  of  an  antique  statue  in 
his  studio,  but  within  his  own  brain  he  creates  his 
ideals;  then  inspiration  follows  every  stroke  of  the 
chisel  that  embodies  them  in  the  Italian  whiteness. 

"Thorwaldsen  has  been  called  the  Greek 
renaissance  in  sculpture,  but  to  me  his  genius  is 
emphatically  Norse.  His  Norse  statues  are  true 
children  of  the  Vikings;  but  in  his  restorations  of 
the  Greek  sculpture  at  Munich,  one  fatally  per- 
ceives where  the  Greek  ends  and  the  Norwegian 
begins,  and  would  rather  Ajax  had  forever  gone 
without  a  nose  than  be  compelled  to  wear  one  of 
a  diminutive  Thor.  You  can  not  patch  one  with 
the  other.  Thorwaldsen's  fauns  are  copies  of 
Greek  fauns.  Norway  never  had  any  fauns;  but 
its  own  divinities  are  as  worthy." 


XXXVII. 

"glrolamo   detto   il    florentino."     poem,  "a 
Dream."     Salem  Ode.     Legion  of  Honor. 

(1877-1878.) 

This  first-named  poem  might  have  been  called 
Disillusioned.  While  not  claiming  to  be  more 
than  the  general  experience  of  successful  artists, 
it  tingles  all  through  with  the  truth  of  Mr. 
Story's  life: 

*  While  I  believed  I  was  strong,  I  was; 

Self-conscious  now,  I  look  around  and  pause, 

Hindered  in  all  I  do  by  doubts  and  fears. 

Success!  yes,  while  you  stinted  me  with  praise; 

The  work  is  good,  altho'  the  world  delays. 

Once  I  compared  it  with  the  world's  neglect, 

And  proudly  said,  'tis  better  than  they  see; 

Now  I  behold  it  tainted  with  defect 

In  the  broad  light  of  what  it  ought  to  be. 

Fame  seemed,  when  out  of  reach,  how  sweet  and  grand! 

How  worthless,  now  I  grasp  it  in  my  hand! 

The  glory  was  the  struggle,  the  affray; 

Victory  is  only  loss. 

Oh,  not  alone  a  name 
Allures  me,  something  higher,  far,  I  claim, 

*  Atlantic  Monthly,  Volume  39,  page  554. 

(206) 


"GIROLAMO  DETTO  IL    FIORENTINO,"  ETC.      207 

To  shape  out  something  that  I  shall  not  shame, 

Something  in  which  the  strength  of  age  shall  be, 

And  youth's  high  hope  be  made  reality. 

I  have  not  stood  a  beggar  on  the  ways 

And  held  my  hand  out  for  the  critic's  praise; 

I  have  not  flattered,  fawned,  not  coined  my  heart, 

Degraded  the  high  purposes  of  art, 

But  on  my  knees 
Been  thankful  for  the  crust  she  threw  to  me, 
Me,  her  poor  worshiper,  most  glad  to  be, 

Glad  if  by  degrees 
I  win  one  smile  at  last  my  life  to  bless, 
And  this  alone  for  me  would  be  success. 

It  has  been  suggested  that 

Something  in  which  the  strength  of  age  shall  be, 
And  youth's  high  hope  be  made  reality, 

is  to  be  found   in  Mr.  Story's  last  works,  "The 
Christ"  and  the  reclining  "  Cleopatra." 

F.  Boot  has   set   to  music  a  poem  of  Story's 
called 

*A  DREAM. 

I  dreamed  you  and  I  were  young,  and  you  loved  me, 

And  the  lips  that  I  used  to  kiss 
Smiled  sweetly,  as  they  smiled  on  me 

With  the  love  that  now  I  miss. 
I  dreamed  that  our  life's  cruel  furrows 

Were  smoothed  and  gladdened  with  flowers 
And  we  breathed  the  freshness  of  springtime 

That  now  is  no  longer  ours. 

Your  arms  reached  out  in  their  longing; 
You  clung  to  me  face  to  face, 


*Atlantic  Monthly,  Volume  39,  page  750. 


208         REMINISCENCES  OF  W.  W.  STORY. 

Not  yielding  a  half  unwelcome, 

A  meaningless,  cold  embrace. 
I  felt  the  long  vanquished  rapture 

Auroral  above  us  stream; 
We  loved  as  we  loved  at  twenty. 

I  woke  —  it  was  all  a  dream. 

For  the  celebration  of  the  fifth  half-century 
anniversary  of  the  Landing  of  Gov.  John  Endicott, 
Mr.  Story  wrote  a  poem  which  was  noticed  as 
follows: 

"After  an  exquisite  reading,  by  Mrs.  J.  Horn- 
slow  West,  of  Mrs.  Hemans'  beautiful  hymn, 
'■  The  Breaking  Waves  Dashed  High,'  a  poem  by 
William  Wetmore  Story,  the  sculptor,  entitled  '  A 
Voice  from  the  Old  World  from  One  of  Salem's 
Sons,'  was  delivered  by  Prof.  J.  W.  Churchill  of 
Andover. 

"A  pen  picture  of  the  landing  of  Endicott,  the 
stern  colonial  governor,  and  his  company,  the 
gentle  lady  Arabella  Johnson,  and  the  savage 
Samoset,  was  admirably  drawn;  and  then,  coming 
down  to  the  bi-centennial  fifty  years  ago,  the  poet 
referred  to  that  event  and  to  those  who  took  part 
in  its  exercises,  and  who  now  were  gone. 

"  He  paid  a  tribute  to  the  eminent  jurist,  Judge 
Story,  and  gracefully  remembered  the  other  rep- 
resentatives of  the  grand  old  Salem  families  then 
present.  A  severe  comparison  was  finally  drawn 
between  the  simple  honesty  of  the  days  of  Endicott 
and  these  later  days  of  office-seekers,  corrupt  leg- 


"GIROLAMO  DETTO  IL    FIORENTINO,"  ETC.      209 

islators,  and  the  bulls  and  bears  of  the  money  mar- 
ket, and  a  strong  and  eloquent  appeal  was  made 
to  the  sons  of  Endicott  and  the  Puritans  to  save 
the  Republic  from  foundering. 

"  A  party  was  presented  as  the  dangerous 
enemy  of  America.  A  stern  rebuke  was  given  to 
those  who,  hanging  back  as  too  busy  to  attend  to 
the  life  of  the  Republic,  allow  corruption  to  gnaw 
at  its  heart,  and  an  appeal  was  made  to  the  young 
men  to  come  forward  and  make  the  future  record 
of  the  Republic  fair,  white,  and  pure. 

"  The  poem  closed  with  a  beautiful  tribute  to 
Old  Salem,  which  was  pictured  as  an  old  dame 
sitting  in  quiet  peace,  and  reading  the  page  of 
the  honored  youth's  bright  name,  proud  of  her 
past  career. 

"The  poem  was  one  of  the  finest  productions 
of  the  occasion.  It  was  elegantly  and  chastely 
written  throughout,  and  finely  delivered." 

In  the  year  1878,  after  returning  to  his  home 
in  Rome,  Mr.  Story  was  named  American  Com- 
missioner of  Art  to  the  Paris  Exhibition  of  that 
year — a  position  which  he  filled  with  such  credit 
to  his  country  and  himself,  and  courtesy  to 
France,  that  he  was  made  an  officer  of  the  Legion 
of  Honor  by  the  French  Government. 


14 


XXXVIII. 

*  Origin  of  the  Italian  Language.     Statues  — 
"  Sardanapalus,"  "Lord  Byron." 

From  Mr.  Story's  papers  on  "  The  Origin  of  the 
Italian  Language,"  the  following  is  quoted:  "  The 
question  as  to  the  origin  of  the  Italian  language 
has  been  much  discussed  by  philologists,  among 
whom  there  has  been  considerable  conflict.  Some 
have  insisted  that  modern  Italian  is  a  corruption 
of  the  ancient  Latin  by  the  so-called  barbarians  by 
whom  Rome  was  overrun;  others  have  main- 
tained that  the  change  of  Latin  into  Italian  was 
effected  by  the  gradual  influence  of  the  various  dia- 
lects of  the  provinces  into  which  Latin  was  intro- 
duced by  conquest,  an  influence  not  essentially 
northern,  but  rather  southern  in  its  character.  A 
third  view  has  been  taken,  supported  by  Aretino, 
Cardinal  Bembo,  and  Cesare  Cantu."  He  (Story), 
"holds  that  modern  Italian  is  the  ancient  Latin 
vernacular,  or  lingua  rtistica,  not  changed  essen- 
tially, but  simply  modified  by  time  and  accident. 
Italian  was   spoken   in  Rome  while  Latin  was  a 

*  North  American  Review.,  Volume  127,  page  97. 

(210) 


ORIGIN   OF   ITALIAN   LANGUAGE.  211 

living  language.  Language  is  like  a  living  tree, 
which  grows  and  develops  new  forms,  but  does 
not  change  its  vital  structure  and  character.  The 
language  of  a  people  is  too  deeply  rooted  in  all 
its  habits  of  thoughts  and  life  to  be  driven  out  by 
conquerors  and  invaders.  Each  country  absorbs 
its  conquerors  and  changes  their  language  into  its 
own.     Modifications  they  undoubtedly  effect. 

"  The  Roman  dialect  is,  of  all  the  Italian  dia- 
lects, nearest  to  the  ancient  Latin.  Latin  con- 
tinued to  be  the  literary  language  of  all  the  world. 
As  early  as  the  eighth  century  the  Italian  dialect 
clearly  appears.  In  the  year  1063  is  a  document 
which  is  in  clear  Italian,  showing  that  the  lan- 
guage was  already  an  established  one.  Latin  was 
in  Rome  the  language  of  the  educated  classes.  Is 
it  not  far  more  probable  that  the  Italian  was  an 
affiliation  or  modification  of  the  lingua  rustica, 
represented  in  writing  according  to  the  vulgar 
pronunciation  ?  The  Italian  language  in  its  pres- 
ent form  does  not  appear  in  writing  and  docu- 
ments before  the  eighth  century.  Yet  suddenly, 
upon  the  revival  of  letters,  it  burst  fcrth  complete 
and  almost  perfect.  Surely  this  indicates  that  it 
had  long  existed  in  the  common  speech  of  the 
people." 

"Sardanapalus,"  the  king  of  luxury  and  indo- 
lence more  than  of  Assyria,  over  whom  Byron  has 
thrown  a  glow  of  poetical  romance,  was  modeled 


212         REMINISCENCES  OF  W.  W.  STORY. 

by  Mr.  Story  in  1879.  The  sculptor  has  repre- 
sented this  effeminate  monarch  as  sitting  with 
every  evidence  of  his  royal  tastes  and  uselessness 
about  him.  Truly  he  could  have  been  in  no  more 
perfect  toilet  to  leave  them  all  when  Myrrha,  the 
Greek  slave  who  was  to  perish  with  him,  exclaimed, 
as  she  applied  the  torch  to  fire  his  palace:  "  Lo, 
I've  lit  the  lamp  that  lights  us  to  the  stars."  These 
words  of  the  poet  who  became  famous  in  one 
night,  bring  to  mind  a  most  attractive  statuette  of 
George  Gordon  (Lord  Byron),  modeled  by  Mr. 
Story.  To  the  magnetic  face  and  fine  throat  the 
sculptor  has  added  the  expression  with  which  his 
subject  might  have  contemplated  the  Hellespont 
or  Mont  Blanc. 


XXXIX. 

"A    Roman   Holiday."     "A  Lay  Confessional." 

(1879-1880.) 

In  this  article  *  Mr.  Story  tells  us  that  Rome's 
"  Old  customs  and  costumes  are  wearing-  away 
daily.  The  Rome  of  to-day  is  no  more  like  me- 
diaeval Rome  than  Pasquin,  with  his  rubbed-out 
features,  is  like  Lorenzo  di  Medici.  But  in  the 
mountains  there  is  little  change;  the  same  habits, 
customs,  and  dresses  which  charmed  the  traveler 
hundreds  of  years  ago  survive  to  delight  the  artist 
and  form  subjects  for  his  canvas. 

"  I  know  no  better  way  of  presenting  them  to 
you  than  to  give  you  a  few  notes  of  a  little  excur- 
sion which,  in  the  spring  of  1857,  I  made  with 
four  friends,  and  I  offer  these  simply  as  a  card  of 
introduction,  and  you  can  verify  or  contradict  my 
statements  by  going  over  the  same  ground. 

"It  was  early  in  the  morning  of  the  28th  of 
April,  before  the  sun  had  dried  the  grass,  that  two 
horsemen — I  beg  pardon!  a  large  cabriolet,  drawn 
by  two  stout  horses  with  bells  on  their  necks  and 

*  Atlantic  Monthly,  Volume  43,  page  135. 

(213) 


214         REMINISCENCES  OF  W.  W.  STORY. 

cockades  on  their  crests  —  might  have  been  seen 
passing  through  the  Porta  San  Giovanni.  This 
was  the  carriage  which  our  party,  consisting  of 
five  persons,  had  hired  to  take  us  as  far  as 
Frosinone." 

Since  Mr.  James  Russell  Lowell  made  one  of 
this  party,  it  is  perhaps  admissible  to  quote  from 
"Fireside  Travels"  what  he  says  of  Mr.  Story's 
ideas  of  bodily  transportation:  "Mr.  Edelmann 
Story  is  not  fond  of  pedestrian  locomotion;  nay,  I 
have  sometimes  thought  that  he  looked  upon  the 
invention  of  legs  as  a  private  and  personal  wrong 
done  to  himself.  I  am  quite  sure  that  he  inwardly 
believes  them  to  have  been  a  consequence  of  the 
fall,  and  that  the  happier  pre-Adamites  were 
monopeds.  A  carriage  with  horses  and  driver  com- 
plete, he  takes  to  be  as  simple  a  production  of 
nature  as  a  potato." 

Now  we  will  let  Mr.  Story  continue:  "The  day 
was  charming,  with  a  warm  sun  and  cool  air. 
Contadini  stopped  plowing  with  their  great  gray 
oxen,  to  lift  their  hats  to  us,  and  we  interchanged 
iBuon  Giorno  '  with  them  and  with  Nature."  And 
so  on  the  excursion  abounds  in  delightful  and 
interesting  experiences  from  which  only  stray 
sayings  can  be  given.  "At  Val  Montone  we 
lunched,  or  rather  pretended  to  lunch,  for  the 
wine  was  so  sour,  and  the  food  so  bad,  that  we 
soon   had  enough  without  getting  a  feast,  thus 


"A   ROMAN   HOLIDAY."  215 

disproving  the  old  proverb."  Mr.  Story  gives 
this  living  picture  of  a  "troop  of  pilgrims  from 
the  Abruzzi": 

"  This  roused  even  the  enthusiasm  of  Orso  and 
Carlo,  who  cried  out,  '  That  is  what  poets  and 
painters,  and  romantic  travelers,  who  never  can  be 
trusted,  lead  us  to  imagine  we  should  see  every- 
where in  Rome.'  "  After  having  rested  the  night 
he  resumes:  "  By  five  o'clock  we  were  up,  and 
engaged  a  carretta  with  a  little  rat  of  a  horse  to 
take  us  over  to  Alatri,  which  is  celebrated  for  its 
remarkable  Pelasgian  remains,  and  for  the  beauty 
of  its  women.  Campo  was  more  interested  in  the 
former,  and  I  in  the  latter.  Neither  of  us  were 
disappointed.  The  men  are  as  handsome  as  the 
women  —  even  the  old  women  looked  like  Fates. 
There  is  probably  no  more  perfect  specimen  of 
Pelasgic  construction  to  be  found  in  Italy.  '  They 
were  built  by  the  gods,'  said  our  guide,  and  so  in 
truth  they  looked.  Glancing  into  the  church  of 
San  Sisto  he  says,  '  Rows  of  women  were  kneeling 
there,  with  their  great  white  paniers  on  their 
heads,  picturesque  and  strangely  Egyptian.  For 
contrast  two  bonnets  were  seen  above  them,  look- 
ing exquisitely  vulgar  among  those  imposing 
head-dresses.' 

"  Before  we  left  we  did  our  duty  as  travelers. 
Surrounded  by  wandering  men  and  boys,  we  read 
in  a  loud  voice  the  pages  of  Murray,  in  which 


216         REMINISCENCES  OF  W.  W.  STORY. 

the  place  is  described,  and  they  appeared  to 
prefer  it  to  the  Mass  that  was  going  on  in  the 
church." 

On  page  273  begins  a  description  of  the  site  of 
Cicero's  Arpenum  Villa,  thus:  "  The  little  islands 
that  the  two  rivers  embrace,  he  might  fairly  call 
'  The  islands  of  the  blessed.'  Now  came  the 
ciociare  costume,  and  we  took  the  occasion  to 
transfer  one  or  two  of  these  figures  to  our  sketch- 
books." Then  follows  the  arrival  at,  and  descrip- 
tion of,  San  Germano  and  the  old  feudal  castle. 
He  then  says:  "About  a  mile  beyond  may  be  seen 
the  old  monastery  and  church  of  San  Domminico 
Avate,  the  scene  of  the  saint's  death.  This  old 
monastery  has  claims  on  our  gratitude,  too,  for 
here  was  preserved,  during  the  darkest  of  the 
Middle  Ages,  many  a  valuable  manuscript,  which 
the  monks,  in  the  intervals  of  praying,  copied  and 
illuminated.  At  present  there  are  but  few  remain- 
ing in  the  library  of  the  monastery." 

In  conclusion  Mr.  Story  speaks  of  passing 
through  "  The  little  village  of  Aquino,  the  birth- 
place of  Juvenal,  and  the  'angelic  doctor,'  St. 
Thomas  Aquinas." 

After  this  they  turned  their  faces  homeward. 
"We  were  on  the  Campagna  of  Rome;  our  litte 
excursion  was  over." 

This  little  sketch*  is  very  briefly  and  modestly 

*  "A  Lay  Confessional,"  Blackivood's,  July,  1880. 


"A   ROMAN   HOLIDAY."  217 

described  by  its  own  letter  of  introduction,  which 
is  as  follows: 

"  The  Box,  Monday  Evening. 
"  Dear  E:  You  are  always  interested  in  studio 
life  and  incidents,  and  as  I  have  no  news  to  tell 
you,  instead  of  writing  you  a  letter  I  have 
sketched  an  experience  of  this  morning,  and 
thrown  it  into  a  dramatic  form,  thinking  it  may 
amuse  you.  Don't  try  to  guess  the  persons,  and 
do  not  be  deceived  by  its  form  into  supposing  it 
to  be  a  play.  It  is  only  a  series  of  scenes,  without 
beginning,  middle,  or  end  —  with  only  the  unities 
of  time  and  place,  and  perhaps  a  certain  likeness 
of  character,  to  recommend  it,  but  making  no 
pretense  to  completeness,  and  being  purely  frag- 
mentary and  episodical.  Do  not  be  disappointed 
that  it  ends  in  nothing.  So  many  things  do  in 
real  life.     Ever  yours  most  faithfully, 

"Victor  Helps." 

As  his  name  indicates,  Victor  Helps  gives  excel- 
lent advice  and  consolation,  if  not  absolution,  to 
two  fair,  confiding  feminine  friends,  each  of  whom 
have  made  of  his  studio  "A  Lay  Confessional." 


XL. 

A  Jewish  Rabbi  in  Rome. 
(1880.) 

"  A  Jewish  Rabbi  "  is  something  after  the  style 
of  "A  Roman  Lawyer  in  Jerusalem. "  Some  brief 
quotations  from  the  poem  are  as  follows  : 

Rabbi  Ben  Esdra  to  his  dearest  friend, 
Rabbi  Ben  Israel,  greeting.     May  the  Lord 
Keep  thee  in  safety  ! 

No  more  preamble,  I  am  now  in  Rome, 
Where  our  Jehovah  rules  not,  but  the  man 
Jesus,  whose  Life  and  Fate  too  well  we  know, 
Is  made  a  God,  the  cross  on  which  he  died 
A  reverend  symbol,  and  his  words  the  law. 
His  words,  what  were  they?    Love,  good  will  to  men. 
Well,  are  they  followed  ?    That's  the  question  now. 
Thus  looking  on,  and  striving  as  I  can 
To  keep  my  mind  wide  open  to  new  thought, 
I  weave  my  dream  of  what  the  world  might  be, 
A  vague  wild  dream,  but  not  without  its  charm. 
Nothing  was  new  in  Jesus's  scheme  but  this, 
To  make  Community  a  fact — no  dream. 
(Comment.) 

And  scarcely  this,  say  I,  Ben  Israel, 
Commenting  on  this  letter.     We  of  old 
Among  the  patriarchs  ever  practiced  it. 

(218) 


A  JEWISH   RABBI   IN   ROME.  219 

And  well  it  worked,  till,  into  cities  packed, 

Men  grew  ambitious; 

And  then  confusion  came  to  one  and  all 

The  good  in  every  age  affirms  the  same, 

Solon,  Confucius,  Plato,  Thales,  all 

Flee  greed,  choose  equal  rights,  Meander  says, 

When  Greece  made  question  of  her  wisest  men, 

"  What  is  the  best  form  of  government  ? " 

Thales  replied,  "  Where  none  are  over- rich 

None  over-poor; "  and  Anacharsis  said, 

"  Where  vice  is  hated  —  virtue  reverenced." 

So  Pittacus,  "  Where  honors  are  conferred 

But  on  the  virtuous;"  and  Solon,  too, 

In  thought  if  not  in  words,  like  Jesus  spoke, 

"When  any  wrong  unto  the  meanest  done 

Is  held  to  be  an  injury  to  all." 

So  also  Solomon,  "  Remove  me  far 

From  vanity  and  lies;  and  give  to  me 

Nor  poverty  nor  wealth;"     .... 

Would  Jesus's  plan  succeed  ?    The  world  thus  far 

Has  taken  another  path.     We,  most  of  all, 

Believe  not  in  him,  nor  in  his  scheme; 

But  dreaming,     .... 

At  times  I  stretch  my  mind  out  into  the  vague, 

And  seek  upon  this  plan  to  build  a  world, 

What  glory  might  the  world  then  see!    What  joy! 

What  harmony  of  work!     What  large  content! 

No  war,  no  waste  of  noble  energies, 

But  smiling  peace,  the  enlarging  grace  of  art; 

Humanity  a  column  with  its  base 

Of  solid  work,  and  at  its  summit  crowned 

With  the  ideal  capital  of  Love ! 

This  is  a  dream  that  turns  this  world  of  ours 

Quite  upside  down;  I'll  say  no  more  of  it. 

And  yet  one  word  more,  lest  you  deem  me  fool  ! 
Think  not  I  dream;  none  but  a  fool  could  dream 


220         REMINISCENCES  OF  W.  W.  STORY. 

Equality  of  rights;  that  is  the  claim 

To  justice,  life,  food,  freedom  in  the  bound 

Of  common  benefit,  involves  the  claim 

To  equal  virtues,  powers,  intelligence, 

Since  God  in  these  unequal  shaped  us  all, 

And  fitted  each  one  for  his  special  end. 

So  should  the  wise,  just,  virtuous  take  the  lead, 

For  what  more  fatal,  hopeless,  than  a  scheme 

Where  wise  and  good,  and  fool  and  knave  alike 

Own  equal  powers  and  rights  in  government  ? 

But  how  secure  the  leadership  to  those 

Whom  God  hath  made  for  leaders  ?    Ah,  my  friend, 

That  is  the  question  none  hath  e'er  resolved; 

My  work  is  almost  done  for  which  I  came 

And  soon  I  hope  to  see  you  all  again. 

Greet  all  my  friends— Rebecca,  Ismael, 

And  all  your  dear  ones.     Peace  be  with  all. 

—  From  Blackwood's  Magazine,  November,  1880. 


XLI. 

*"  Do  You  Remember  ?  "     Vallombrosa.     Mr. 

Browning. 

(1880-1881.) 

UN  BACIO  DATO  NON  E  MAI  PERDUTO. 

Because  we  once  drove  together 

In  the  moonlight  over  the  snow, 
With  the  sharp  bells  ringing  their  tinkling  chime, 

So  many  years  ago, 

Enough  is  the  joy  of  mere  living, 

Enough  is  the  blood's  quick  thrill; 

We  are  simply  happy,  I  care  not  why, 
We  are  happy  beyond  our  will. 

And  jingling  with  low,  sweet  clashing, 
Ring  the  bells  as  our  good  horse  goes, 

And  tossing  his  head  from  his  nostrils  red 
His  frosty  breath  he  blows. 

And  closely  you  nestle  against  me, 
While  around  your  waist  my  arm 

I  have  slipped —  'tis  so  bitter,  bitter  cold  — 
It  is  only  to  keep  us  warm. 

We  talk,  and  then  we  are  silent, 

And  suddenly,  you  know  why  — 
I  stooped  —  could  I  help  it?  You  lifted  your  face, 

We  kissed  —  there  was  nobody  nigh. 

*  Atlantic  Monthly,  Volume  45,  page  18. 

(221) 


222         REMINISCENCES  OF  W.  W.  STORY. 

And  no  one  was  ever  the  wiser, 

And  no  one  was  ever  the  worse ; 
The  skies  did  not  fall,  as  perchance  they  ought, 

And  we  heard  no  paternal  curse. 

I  never  told  it  —  did  you,  dear  ? 

From  that  day  unto  this; 
But  my  memory  keeps,  in  its  inmost  recess, 

Like  a  perfume  that  innocent  kiss. 

Vallombrosa,*  as  the  Italians  say  it,  seems 
music;  and  as  Mr.  Story  writes  of  it,  means  all 
that  appeals  to  poetical  imagination,  for  he  takes 
Milton  for  his  text,  and  begins  thus: 

"In  the  latter  part  of  last  October  I  found 
myself  in  the  lower  slopes  of  the  Apennines,  on 
the  shadowy  hills  of  Vallombrosa.  Its  very  name, 
which  Milton  has  made  familiar  to  English  ears, 
has  a  poetic  and  romantic  attraction;  and  wherever 
it  is  pronounced,  there  rises  in  the  memory  his 
famous  simile  of  the  innumerable  legions  of 
angelic  forms 

Who  lay  entranced, 
As  thick  as  autumn  leaves  that  strew  the  brooks 
In  Vallombrosa,  when  the  Etrurian  shades 
High  overarched  embower. 

"  But  of  the  many  who  know  by  heart  these 
magical  lines,  how  few  there  are  to  whom  Vallom- 
brosa is  more  than  a  sounding  name,  suggesting 

♦Originally  published  in  Blackwood's,  and  in  book  form  by  Wm. 
Blackwood  &  Sons,  Edinburgh  and  London,  1881. 


"DO   YOU    REMEMBER?"    ETC.  223 

at  best  some  vague  place  in  the  ideal  realm  of 
dreams." 

Farther  on  he  tells  that  he  had  been  invited  by 
a  friend  (whom  he  does  not  name  as  his  daughter, 
the  Marchesa  Peruzzi)  "  to  pass  a  few  days  with 
her  and  her  family,"  at  her  country  place,  which 
was  once  a  stronghold  and  hunting  box  of  the 
Medici,  situated  in  one  of  the  most  lovely  regions 
of  the  large  tract  which  bears  the  name  of  Vallom- 
brosa.  He  laments  the  loss  of  the  two  tall  towers 
which  once  flanked  the  building,  and  its  earlier 
castellated  form.  He  tells  us  that  the  famous 
convent  is  but  three  miles  off.  He  takes  us 
through  the  great  forest  depths  of  shade  and  its 
bits  of  sunlight  shimmering  through;  where  the 
poet  might  find  "singing  brooks,"  the  artist  a 
"  wealth  of  innumerable  autumn  leaves  over  which 
there  hovers  an  undefined  mysterious  charm  of 
unreality,"  and  the  peasant,  chestnuts,  berries,  and 
faggots,  for  his  winter's  store  of  living.  Story 
gives  interesting  glimpses  of  the  simple  joys  and 
sorrows  of  these  poor  people,  whose  gentle  and 
enduring  existence  seems  crossed  and  crowned 
in  the  one  word  pazienza!  He  shows  us  views 
from  splendid  heights  of  distant,  misty  Florence, 
and  calls  up  its  emperors,  popes,  poets,  scholars, 
and  saints,  who,  like  Rembrandt's  pictures,  answer 
from  the  shadowland  in  the  order  of  their  times 
and  their  claims  upon  the  substantiality  of  this 


224        REMINISCENCES  OF  W.  W.  STORY. 

world.  In  these  wanderings  and  the  home  life 
here,  his  grandchildren  were  his  dear  and  constant 
companions,  he  himself  being  as  young  in  heart 
and  as  full  of  glad  spirits  as  any  one  of  them. 

Writing  of  Mr.  Browning,  Mrs.  Orr  gives  this 
from  his  Venice  letter  of  September  24,  1881: 
"Next  day  we  took  stock  of  our  acquaintances,  and 
found  that  the  Storys,  on  whom  we  counted  for 
company,  were  at  Vallombrosa,  though  their  two 
sons  have  a  studio  here." 


XLII. 

Statue  of  Chief  Justice  Marshall.  Group, 
Centaur  and  Nymph.  Metropolitan  Mu- 
seum Fellowship.     Statue,  Orestes. 

(1882.) 

On  Story's  return  from  America,  in  1882,  he 
modeled  a  colossal  statue  of  Chief  Justice  Mar- 
shall. It  is  now  in  Washington,  D.  C.  The  feel- 
ing that  inspired  the  sculptor  in  this  work  is 
finely  expressed  by  his  own  pen: 

But  as  the  bell,  that  high  in  some  cathedral  swings, 
Stirred  by  whatever  thrill,  with  its  own  music  rings, 
So  finer  souls  give  forth,  to  each  vibrating  tone 
Impinging  on  their  life,  a  music  of  their  own. 

"Things  of  art,"  Mr.  Story  says,  "snatch 
nature's  graces  from  the  hand  of  time."  "  Great 
Pan  is  dead,"  and  yet  he  lives  in  art,  in  myriad 
forms  from  Jupiter  to  the  Centauri.  Mr.  Story  has 
varied  the  usual  ideals  of  that  people  of  Thessaly 
by  putting  a  nymph  instead  of  the  customary 
cupid  in  a  centaur's  company,  thus  expressing 
perhaps  the  gentler  and  more  refining  influences 

15  (225) 


226         REMINISCENCES  OF  W.  W.  STORY. 

of  the  human  over  animal  nature.  "  For  women," 
the  sculptor  says,  "  should  be  made  of  swan's-down 
and  velvet,  and  nothing  else."  Thus  it  follows  that 
their  association  brings  such  effects  in  the  artist's 
mind. 

A  letter  from  Mr.  Henry  G.  Story  of  Brooklyn, 
N.  Y.,  a  member  of  that  family,  states  that "  W.  W. 
Story  was  made  an  honorary  Fellow  for  life  of  the 
Metropolitan  Museum  of  Art,  New  York  City;  his 
name  first  appears  on  the  list  dated  December  3,1, 
1882,  for  that  year." 

In  1882  Story  modeled  the  statue  of  Orestes, 
the  son  of  Agamemnon  and  Clytemnestra,  who  is 
rescued  from  his  mother's  dagger  to  avenge  his 
father's  death  upon  her.  "  Struggle  at  rest,"  the 
sculptor  says,  "is  antagonized  by  repose  in 
action."  The  following  lines  on  "  Orestes  "  illus- 
trate the  artist's  conception: 

How  beautiful  the  night!    How  calm  and  deep 

This  sacred  silence!     Not  an  olive  leaf 

Is  stirring  on  the  slopes;  all  is  asleep  — 

But  see!    Half  hidden  in  the  columned  shade, 

Who  panting  stands,  with  hollow  eyes  dismayed? 

Aye,  'tis  Orestes!    We  are  not  alone. 

What  human  place  is  free  from  human  groan? 

Look!     When  he  listens,  dreading  still  to  hear 

The  avenging  voices  sounding  in  his  ear; 

Ah,  vain  the  hope  to  flee  from  Nemesis! 

He  starts,  again  he  hears  the  horrent  hiss 

Of  the  fierce  Furies  —  as  they  come, 

Behold  him  with  that  stricken  face  of  doom 


STATUE   OP   MARSHALL,   ETC.  227 

Fly  to  the  altar. 

"Save  me!"  he  cries;  "Apollo!  hear  and  save; 
Not  even  the  dead  will  sleep  in  their  dark  grave." 
See!  the  white  arm  above  him  seems  to  wave. 

Sleep!  sleep,  Orestes!  let  thy  torrents  cease! 
Sleep!  great  Apollo  grants  thy  prayer  for  peace. 


XLIII. 

Marriage  of  Mr.  Story's  Older  Son  to  Miss 
Maud  Broadwood.  Reclining  "Cleopatra." 
Poem,  "  Cleopatra."     Statue,  "Miriam." 

(1883-1884.) 

Those  who  have  had  the  pleas  are  of  meeting 
Mrs.  Waldo  Story  can  understand  what  true  de- 
light the  poet-artist  took  in  the  following  an- 
nouncements: 

"  Mr.  and  Mrs.  W.  W.  Story  have  the  honor  to 
announce  to  you  the  marriage  of  their  son  Waldo 
to  Miss  Maud  Broadwood." 

"  Mr.  and  Mrs.  T.  Capel  Broadwood  have  the 
honor  to  announce  to  you  the  marriage  of  their 
daughter  Maud  to  Mr.  Waldo  Story. 

"  Celebrated  at  the  American  Church,  St.  Paul's, 
Rome,  April  25,  1883." 

The  publication  of  the  sculptor's  letters  will 
reveal  how  truly  beautiful  this  association  became 
to  him;  for,  indeed,  he  always  said  that  this 
gracious  lady  "  did  everything  exactly  right." 
Mrs.  Waldo  Story  was  the  granddaughter  of 
Alfred  Hennin,  the  distinguished  jurist  of  New 

Orleans.     Her  father  was  an  Englishman. 

(228) 


MARRIAGE  OF  MR.   STORY'S    SON,  ETC.     229 

The  second  Cleopatra  is  as  beautiful  as  creative 
genius  and  the  pure  white  marble  can  make  this 
sovereign  and  woman.  Egypt's  queen  is  rep- 
resented by  a  glorious  female  figure  half  reclin- 
ing in  languid  grace  upon  a  couch  of  slender  de- 
sign, delicately  finished  with  lotus  flowers  in  low 
relief.  A  tiger's  skin  is  half  thrown  across  its 
center,  the  fine  head  and  claws  lying  flat  on  the 
floor  as  foreground.  A  soft,  full  cushion  of  East- 
ern stripes  and  silken  texture  supports  the  elbow 
of  her  superb  arm,  upon  which  is  the  serpent- 
bracelet  that  bars  "  with  a  purple  stain."  Her 
head,  entwined  with  the  mystic  urceus  or  basi- 
lisk of  sovereignty,  rests  upon  her  folded  hand. 
Her  face  is  full  of  beauty,  intelligence,  and  sor- 
row, while  passion  seems  fairly  to  ebb  and  flow 
through  the  splendid  form,  across  which  some 
priceless  gauze  is  thrown. 

Some  years  ago  a  friend  asked  Mr.  Story  how 
it  came  that  his  poem  upon  "  Cleopatra  "'and  his 
first  statue  of  this  character  did  not  altogether 
harmonize.  The  question  set  him  to  thinking, 
and  the  result  of  this  thinking  became  "  Cleo- 
patra" the  second. 

A  few  stanzas  from  his  poem  "  Cleopatra,"  pre- 
faced by  some  lines  from  his  "  Marcus  Antoninus," 
may  give  the  best  practicable  understanding  of 
this  magnificent  marble: 


230        REMINISCENCES  OF  W.  W.  STORY. 
MARCUS  ANTONINUS. 

What  is  honor,  prudence,  interest, 
To  the  wild  strength  of  Love?    Oh,  best  of  life, 
My  joy,  hope,  triumph,  glory,  my  soul's  wife, 
My  Cleopatra  !     I  desire  thee  so 
That  all  restraint  to  the  wild  winds  I  throw. 
.     .     .     When  I  think  of  her 
My  soul  within  my  body  is  astir! 
My  wild  blood  pulses,  and  my  hot  pheeks  glow; 
Love  with  its  madness  overwhelms  me  so  — 
Oh,  for  the  breath  of  Egypt!    The  soft  nights 
Of  the  voluptuous  East.     The  dear  delights  — 
Oh,  for  the  wine  my  queen  alone  can  pour 
From  her  rich  nature  !     Let  me  starve  no  more 
On  this  weak  tepid  drink  that  never  warms 
My  life  blood;   but  away  with  shams  and  forms! 
Away  with  Rome !     One  hour  in  Egypt's  eyes 
Is  worth  a  score  of  Roman  centuries. 
.     .     .     Tell  her  till  I  see 
Those  eyes  I  do  not  live — that  Rome  to  me 
Is  hateful  —  tell  her  —  Oh !     I  know  not  what  — 
That  every  thought  and  feeling,  space  and  spot 
Is  like  an  ugly  dream,  where  is  she  not. 

CLEOPATRA. 

DEDICATED   TO   J.    L.    M. 

Here,  Charmian,  take  my  bracelets, 

They  bar  with  a  purple  stain 
My  arms;  turn  over  the  pillows  — 

They  are  hot  where  I  have  lain; 
Open  the  lattice  wider, 

A  gauze  o'er  my  bosom  throw, 
And  let  me  inhale  the  odors 

That  o'er  the  garden  blow. 


MARRIAGE  OF  MR.   STORY'S  SON,  ETC.      231 

I  dreamed  I  was  with  my  Antony 

And  in  his  arms  I  lay ; 
Ah,  me!  the  vision  has  vanished — 

The  music  has  died  away. 


Ah,  me!  this  lifeless  nature 

Oppresses  my  heart  and  brain ! 
Oh!  for  a  storm  and  thunder, 

For  lightning,  and  wild,  fierce  rain! 
Fling  down  that  lute — I  hate  it! 

Take  rather  his  buckler  and  sword, 
And  crash  them  and  clash  them  together 

Till  this  sleeping  world  is  stirred. 


Leave  me  to  gaze  at  the  landscape 

Mistily  stretching  away, 
Where  the  afternoon  opaline  tremors 

O'er  the  mountains  quivering  play; 


I  will  lie  and  dream  of  the  past  time, 

Aeons  of  thought  away, 
And  through  the  jungle  of  memory 

Loosen  my  fancy  to  play; 
When,  a  smooth  and  velvety  tiger, 

Ribbed  with  yellow  and  black, 
Supple  and  cushion-footed 

I  wandered  where  never  the  track 
Of  a  human  creature  had  rustled, 

The  silence  of  mighty  woods 

And  fierce  in  a  tyrannous  freedom 

I  knew  but  the  law  of  my  moods. 
I 

Come  to  my  arms,  my  hero, 
The  shadows  of  twilight  grow, 


232         REMINISCENCES  OF  W.  W.  STORY. 

And  the  tiger's  ancient  fierceness 

In  my  veins  begins  to  flow. 
Come,  as  you  came  in  the  desert, 

Ere  we  were  women  and  men, 
When  the  tiger  passions  were  in  us, 

And  love  as  you  loved  me  then! 

Mr.  Story  used  to  say,  smilingly:  "  Cleopatra 
was  a  tiger,  you  know,  before  she  was  a  woman." 

Rest  absolute  is  death;  rest  relative  alone 

To  nature  must  belong;  the  soul  must  on  and  on. 

So  seems  "Miriam,"  singing  her  song  of  tri- 
umph as  she  came  from  the  sculptor's  chisel  in 
1884. 

"There  is  'Miriam'  of  the  grand  Old  Testa- 
ment singing  her  song  of  triumph  and  praise, 
standing  with  uplifted  arm;  she  is  an  inspiration 
as  she  is  inspired." 

"Miriam"  compels  admiration  and  pleasure; 
with  the  magnetism  of  pure  joy,  her  enthusiasm 
seems  alive,  and  serves  to  prove  the  truth  of  the 
sculptor's  own  words,  that  "Artists  must  enchant 
people  as  poets  do;  and  nature  in  art  is  never 
good  until  it  is  enchanted  by  the  soul  of  the 
artist." 


XLIV. 

Petition  of  Roman-American  Artists. 
(1885.) 

During  the  visit  of  a  friend  to  the  sculptor's 
studio  the  following  conversation  took  place: 

"  Mr.  Story,  about  how  much  money  does  your 
statue  of  Christ  represent  ? " 

"  I  ask  $8,000  for  it." 

"  Then,  as  you  are  an  American  artist,  there 
would  be  no  duty  added  to  this  amount  ?  " 

"Duty!  duty!  there  should  be  no  duty  on  the 
works  of  any  artist.  Why,  you  know  I  drew  up 
a  petition  a  few  years  ago  upon  that  very  subject. 
It  was  signed  by  the  American  artists  here  in 
Rome,  and  was  sent  on  to  Washington,  where  it  is 
now  awaiting  the  attention  of  our  Government." 

The  petition  referred  to  best  explains  itself. 
It  is  given  in  part  as  follows: 

"  Rome,  June  15,  1885. 
"  To  the  Honorable  the  Senate  and  House  of  Rep- 
resentatives, in  Congress  assembled. 

"This  petition  showeth:  That  we,  the  under- 
signed, artists  and  students  of  art,  in  Rome,  beg  to 

(233) 


234         REMINISCENCES  OF  W.  W.  STORY. 

call  to  the  attention  and  consideration  of  Congress 
the  petition  hereto  appended  and  addressed  by 
them  to  the  late  Congress  during  the  past  year, 
and  earnestly  to  renew  their  petition  that  the 
duty  of  30  per  cent  imposed  upon  works  by  for- 
eign artists  should  be  repealed. 

"  If  this  duty  be  levied  for  the  purpose  of 
revenue,  we  submit  that  it  is  not  required  by  our 
country  nor  justified  by  any  necessity. 

"  If  it  be  levied  for  the  purpose  of  protection  of 
American  artists,  we  submit  that  they  are  opposed 
to  such  protection.  .  .  .  They  consider  it  to  be 
at  variance  with  their  personal  interests,  as  well 
as  with  the  general  interests  of  American  art,  and 
to  be  as  injurious  to  the  public  at  home  as  it  is 
irritating  and  offensive  to  artists  and  governments 
abroad. 

"The  published  statistics  plainly  prove  that, 
since  the  enactment  of  this  duty,  the  sales  of 
works  of  art  by  American  as  well  as  foreign 
artists  have  declined.  .  .  .  The  application  of 
the  principle  of  protection  to  products  of  art  is,  in 
our  opinion,  a  serious  mistake,  if  not  an  absurdity. 
The  protection  of  American  manufacturers  may 
enable  us  finally  to  produce  at  home  work  of  an 
equal,  or  even  of  a  superior,  merit  to  that  executed 
by  foreign  nations,  and  so  similar  as  scarcely  to  be 
distinguished  from  it;  but  no  amount  of  protection 
will  enable  an  American  artist  to  produce  works 


PETITION   OF  ARTISTS.  235 

similar  to  those  of  any  foreign  artist,  or  undis- 
tinguishable  from  them.  Manufactures  are  one 
thing,  Art  is  another.  The  character  and  value  of 
a  work  of  art  depends  upon  the  individual  genius 
and  ability  of  the  artist  himself,  and  this  can 
neither  be  transferred  to  another,  nor  can  he  be 
deprived  of  it  by  any  law  or  any  prohibition.  By 
weighting  with  heavy  duties  the  works  of  the 
great  masters  of  the  past,  such  as  Titian  or 
Tintoretto,  or  by  virtually  prohibiting  the  works 
of  modern  masters,  such  as  Fortuny  or  Millet, 
Meissonier,  or  De  Nittis,  we  make  no  step  toward 
creating  in  our  own  country  new  Titians,  Tin- 
torettos,  Fortunys,  Millets,  or  Meissoniers.  On 
the  contrary,  by  preventing  the  free  introduction 
of  their  works  we  deprive  our  artists  at  home  of 
opportunities  of  study,  comparison,  and  training; 
we  force  them  to  go  abroad  for  their  education, 
and,  under  the  pretense  of  helping  them,  we 
burden  them  with  difficulties.  And  not  only  the 
artist  is  thus  injured,  but  the  public  also  suffers, 
and  art  is  handicapped. 

"Art  is  in  itself  an  education,  a  benefit,  a  delight, 
and  a  refining  influence  that  no  great  nation  can 
forego.  .  .  .  It  is  claimed  as  an  excuse  for 
this  duty  that  art  is  a  luxury,  and  therefore 
should  be  taxed.  Is  it  not  rather  a  necessity 
for  every  great  nation?  ...  It  was  the  pride 
and  glory  of  Assyria,  Egypt,  Greece,  and  Rome 


236         REMINISCENCES  OF  W.  W.  STORY. 

in  ancient  days,  and  has  survived  their  civiliza- 
tion, their  dynasties,  and  their  religion.  It  was 
the  crowning  splendor  of  the  republics  and  cities 
of  Italy  during  the  period  of  the  Renaissance,  and 
it  is  cherished,  nurtured,  and  fostered  by  all  the 
great  nations  of  to-day  in  Europe  as  essential  to 
the  highest  civilization  of  every  country.  .  .  . 
Through  every  grade  and  condition  of  life  it  is 
welcomed  and  greeted  and  desired  —  for  the  crav- 
ing for  something  artistic  and  ideal,  the  desire  for 
beauty,  the  necessity  for  some  influence  to  lift  the 
heart,  gladden  the  home,  and  change  the  current 
of  merely  worldly  thought,  is  everywhere  felt. 
.  .  .  There  may  be  only  a  colored  chromo,  or 
there  may  be  a  Raffaello  on  the  walls,  but  every- 
where there  is  something.  This  universality 
proves,  then,  that  art  is  a  necessity  for  human 
life,  and  not  merely  a  luxury  for  the  rich.     .     .     . 

"  Where,  then,  draw  the  line  ?  Where  lay  the 
tax  ?  Only  on  the  best  and  highest,  because  they 
are  costly,  and  therefore  a  luxury  for  the  rich. 
.  .  .  No  man  can  consume  his  picture  or  statue. 
Hundreds  and  thousands  must  see  it,  many  in  their 
homes,  more  when  it  is  publicly  exhibited,  as  it  is 
sure  to  be,  and  gain  from  it  stimulation,  delight, 
and  instruction.  If  art  be  a  luxury,  so  is  educa- 
tion; but  what  nation  ever  dreamed  of  laying  a 
tax  on  education  ? 

"  This  tax  strikes  at  the  best  works  of  the  best 


PETITION   OF  ARTISTS.  237 

artists  abroad  even  more  fatally  than  at  the  com- 
monest and  cheapest,  whereas  our  policy  should 
be  especially  to  encourage  the  importation  of  the 
best.  The  less  we  have  of  the  best  the  worse  for 
us  all.  Will  excluding  the  works  of  the  ablest 
foreign  artists  induce  anyone  with  knowledge  to 
content  himself  with  poorer  work,  simply  because 
it  is  cheaper  or  executed  at  home?  No!  It  will 
prevent  him  from  buying  at  all.  If  so,  too,  our 
education  in  art  must  be  through  second,  third, 
and  fourth  rate  works,  and  our  knowledge  and 
taste  must  suffer,  the  general  interest  in  art 
decline,  and  the  artist  and  the  public  alike  be 
degraded. 

"Again,  art  ramifies  everywhere  into  industry. 
It  opens  a  field  for  labor  in  a  hundred  directions. 
It  finds  its  way  into  manufactures,  and  tissues,  and 
designs.  Where  shall  we  put  our  hands  on  it  and 
say,  '  Thus  far  and  no  farther  shall  art  be  free '  ? 
Rather,  in  the  spirit  of  a  great  people,  let  us  wel- 
come it,  however,  and  from  wherever  it  comes, 
not  grudgingly  and  with  weights  and  taxes,  but 
gladly  and  with  outstretched  arms,  and  so  shall 
we  afford  a  larger  field  for  the  genius  of  our  peo- 
ple to  work  in,  and  glorify  the  commonest  prod- 
iicts  of  our  industry  and  manufactures  by  the 
element  of  beauty. 

"  We,  as  American  artists,  proud  of  our  country, 
confident  of  its  future,  and  jealous  of  its  honor 


238        REMINISCENCES  OF  W.  W.  STORY. 

and  credit,  are  opposed  to  all  special  privileges 
and  discrimination  in  our  behalf.  We  ask  no 
protection,  deeming  it  worse  than  useless.  Art  is 
a  universal  republic,  of  which  all  artists  are  citi- 
zens whatever  be  their  country  or  clime.  All  we 
ask  is  that  there  should  be  a  free  field  and  no 
favor,  and  the  prize  adjudged  to  the  best. 

"  William  W.  Story,  President. 
"  Dwight  Benton,  Secretary. 

Eugene  Benson,  Louise  Lawson, 

"  Caroline  Carson,         Edmonia  Lewis, 
"  Charles  C.  Coleman,  Randolph  Rogers, 
'  John  Donoghue,  Edgerton  S.  Rogers, 

'  M.  EZEKIEL,  ALxMA  J.  Boyer, 

'  A.  Freeman,  William  A.  Shade, 

'  R.  S.  Greenough,  Franklin  Simmons, 

'  C  C.  Griswold,  Waldo  Story, 

'  William  Haseltine,  Luther  Terry. 
'  Albert  E.  Harnisch,  J.  Rollin  Tilton, 

'  George  H.  Hall,  Luella  M.  Varney, 

'  Chauncey  B.  Ives,  Elihu  Vedder, 

'  H.  D.  Ives,  A.  O.  Williams, 

'  E.  Keyser,  M.  E.  Williams." 


XLV. 

Statues  of  Ezra  Cornell  and  William  Cullen 
Bryant.     Key  Monument. 

(1885-1886.) 

A  visitor  once  remarked  to  Mr.  Story:  "You 
have  been  a  busy  man,  sir."  The  reply  was:  "  Yes; 
I  could  not  live  without  work.  During  my  four 
months'  vacation  I  am  away  from  Rome  in  the 
country,  but  in  all  that  time  I  am  busy  with  my 
pen.  For  my  part  I  never  had  to  learn  applica- 
tion—  perhaps  that  is  the  reason  I  talk  of  it  so 
glibly.  I  really  don't  know  which  time  is  my 
vacation  —  whether  that  which  I  spend  in  the  city 
with  my  marble  or  that  which  I  spend  in  the 
country  with  my  foolscap.  I  love  both  occupa- 
tions. They  are  both  play  and  work,  too,  for  me; 
that  is  the  way  we  should  always  construct  our 
employments.  Have  them  half  work  and  half 
play  —  work  to  give  them  earnestness  and  to  drive 
them  through,  and  play  to  make  them  graceful 
and  fill  them  with  attractions." 

It  was  in  1885  that  Cornell  University  commis- 
sioned Story  to  execute  a  bronze  statue  of  Ezra 

(239) 


240        REMINISCENCES  OF  W.  W.  STORY. 

Cornell,  the  founder  of  that  institution  of  learn- 
ing. It  is  a  recumbent  portrait  statue  lying  in 
state  of  cap  and  gown,  much  after  the  manner  of 
mediaeval  scholars,  bishops,  and  knights,  and  now 
rests  in  the  chapel  of  the  university  at  Ithaca. 

The  year  1885  also  found  Story  modeling  a 
colossal  statue  of  the  poet  William  Cullen  Bry- 
ant; and  in  connection  with  Bryant's  name  an 
incident  that  occurred  in  the  sculptor's  studio  in 
Rome  comes  to  mind.  It  was  upon  the  occasion 
of  a  visit  there  by  the  writer,  in  company  with  a 
Washington  woman  whose  husband  had  been  for 
many  years  a  dear  friend  and  editorial  associate 
of  Bryant's.  As  the  curtain  was  drawn  aside 
from  the  passageway  entrance  to  the  long  room 
of  casts,  the  lady  started  and  turning  to  her  com- 
panions, exclaimed,  "  Why  !  that's  Mr.  Bryant ! 
What  a  speaking  likeness  !  "  indicating  the  poet's 
figure  of  heroic  size  in  plaster. 

Story's  face  flushed  with  pleasure  at  this  instan- 
taneous recognition  from  one  who  had  known  the 
author  of  Thanatopsis  so  long  and  so  well. 

That  this  model  has  never  as  yet  been  rendered 
in  marble  is  much  to  be  deplored. 

A  cutting  from  the  Epoch  of  September  9th 
gives  this  notice  of  "  The  Key  Monument "  : 

"  It  is  a  singular  fact  that  little  has  been  written 
concerning  Francis  Scott  Key,  the  author  of  'Star 
Spangled  Banner.' 


STATUE  OF  EZRA  CORNELL,  ETC.    241 

"It  seems  also  strange  that,  although  nearly 
fifty  years  have  passed  since  his  death,  no  outward 
expression  of  honor  has  been  given  to  the  writer 
of  our  national  hymn  previous  to  the  gift  of 
James  Lick,  who  bequeathed  $60,000  for  the  erec- 
tion of  a  monument  to  Key  in  Golden  Gate  Park, 
San  Francisco. 

"  For  two  years  Mr.  William  Story,  the  Ameri- 
can sculptor  and  author,  has  labored  in  its  con- 
struction. The  chosen  material  is  of  travertine,  a 
calcareous  stone  of  a  reddish-yellow  hue,  light 
and  very  porous.  Its  durability  has  been  well 
tested,  for  the  Colosseum  and  portions  of  St. 
Peter's  Cathedral  in  Rome  are  built  of  this 
material. 

"  The  monument  is  fifty-one  feet  in  height,  and 
consists  of  a  double  arch,  with  pillars  at  each  side, 
resting  upon  a  heavy  quadrilateral  pedestal,  with 
four  bas-reliefs,  each  four  feet  in  height.  This 
pedestal  rests  upon  three  broad  steps  which  form 
the  base.  Under  the  arch  is  a  figure  of  Key. 
Instead  of  modeling  him  in  a  frenzy  of  excite- 
ment, Mr.  Story  has  treated  the  subject  with  more 
simplicity,  representing  the  poet  in  an  attitude  of 
thought,  as  he  sits  in  a  stone  chair  with  his  head 
resting  on  his  right  hand.  Upon  the  entablature 
over  his  head  are  the  words,  '  Star  Spangled  Ban- 
ner.' Surmounting  the  monument  is  a  figure  of 
'America'  standing  upon  a  block  of  marble,  having 

16 


242         REMINISCENCES  OF  W.  W.  STORY. 

a  bronze  eagle  at  each  corner,  typical  of  her 
foundation,  Liberty. 

"  Her  left  hand  rests  upon  her  hip,  which  is 
drawn  slightly  forward,  while  with  her  right 
hand  she  clasps  the  flag. 

"  The  pose  of  the  figure  is  heroic  and  full  of 
national  pride,  and  the  expression  of  the  face 
thoroughly  imbued  with  the  enthusiastic  spirit  of 
the  song.  This  figure  is  eight  feet  in  height, 
while  that  of  Key  is  slightly  above  life-size.  A 
verse  of  the  poem  is  inscribed  upon  one  of  the 
bas-reliefs. 

"  With  respect  to  the  origin  of  the  poem,  it 
may  be  said  that  Key  witnessed  the  attack  on 
Baltimore  by  the  British  forces,  being  detained  as 
a  prisoner  on  board  of  a  ship  during  the  engage- 
ment. Owing  to  the  position  of  the  ship  the  flag 
at  Fort  McHenry  was  distinctly  seen  through  the 
night  by  the  glare  of  the  battle,  but  before  dawn 
the  firing  ceased  and  the  prisoners  anxiously 
watched  to  see  which  colors  floated  from  the  ram- 
parts. Key's  feelings,  when  he  discovered  that 
the  Stars  and  Stripes  had  not  been  supplanted, 
found  expression  in  '  The  Star  Spangled  Banner.' 

"  On  arriving  in  Baltimore  he  finished  the  lines, 
which  he  had  hastily  written  on  the  back  of  a 
letter,  and  gave  them  to  Capt.  Benjamin  Eades. 
Seizing  a  copy  wet  from  the  press,  Eades  has- 
tened to  the  quaint  old  tavern  next  to  the  Holli- 


STATUE  OF  EZRA  CORNELL,  ETC.    243 

day  Street  Theater,  where  the  actors  assembled 
to  watch  the  citizen  defenders  go  through  their 
daily  drill.  Mr.  Key  had  directed  the  printer  to 
print  above  the  song  that  it  was  to  be  sung  to  the 
air  of  'Anacreon  in  Heaven.' 

"  The  verses  were  first  read  aloud  by  the  printer 
and,  on  being  appealed  to  by  the  crowd,  Fer- 
dinand Durang  mounted  an  old-fashioned  rush- 
bottomed  chair  and  sang  the  words  for  the  first 
time,  all  present  joining  in  the  chorus.  The  song 
rapidly  sped  through  the  United  States  and 
became  familiar  everywhere." 


XLVI. 

"  flammetta."     group,  "into  the  sllent  land." 

American    Citizenship.      Press     Notice    of 

Mr.  Story. 

(1886.) 

In  1886  Mr.  Story  brought  out  "  Fiammetta  " 
—  a  summer  idyl.  It  was  published  by  William 
Blackwood  &  Sons,  Edinburgh  and  London,  and 
dedicated  as  follows: 

"  To  my  wife  and  daughter, 
"Emelyn  Story  and  Edith  Marion  Peruzzi: 
"  This  little  story,  which  was  written  during 
the  summer  at  the  Lago  di  Vallombrosa,  I  read 
to  you  on  three  beautiful  mornings,  as  we  sat 
under  the  shadow  of  its  whispering  pines.  You 
thought  well  of  it  —  too  well,  I  fear  —  and  encour- 
aged me  to  print  it.  To  you,  therefore,  I  dedicate 
it,  with  my  truest  love,  and  in  memory  of  those 
happy  summer  days  in  the  '  Etrurian  Shades.' 

"W.  W.  Story. 
"Rome,  October,  1885." 

In  the  dedication  of  "  Fiammetta  "  one  discov- 
ers how  Mr.  Story's  quiet  days  at  Vallombrosa 
were  filled  with  inspiration  and  delight.     "  Under 

the  shadow  of  the  whispering  pines,"  and  associ- 

(244) 


"  FIAMMETTA,"  ETC.  245 

ated  with  those  so  dear  to  him,  he  gave  a  gentle 
yet  stirring  lesson  to  that  world  of  artist-folk 
who  each  year  leave  the  Eternal  City  to  sleep  in 
her  summer's  heat,  and  seek  beyond  her  walls 
and  wide  campagna  refreshment  for  the  body, 
heart,  and  the  imagination. 

"  Into  the  Silent  Land,"  says  a  writer  of  that 
time,  "is  a  group  exquisitely  ideal.  A  beautiful 
soul,  just  passed  from  earthly  life,  walks  away  to 
the  Elysian  fields  in  the  companionship  of  an  angel 
who  folds  one  strong  arm  about  the  stranger,  and 
the  long  white  wings,  symbolical  of  new-born 
power,  are  acceptable  and  lovely."  It  might  be 
called  the  eternal  youth  of  Joy  and  Peace. 

A  letter  in  the  Home  Journal  throws  a  search- 
light upon  Mr.  Story's  personal  feeling  as  to  his 
American  citizenship  : 

"  In  the  course  of  a  brief  critique  upon  Story's 
'  Proportions  of  the  Human  Form,'  through  misin- 
formation the  writer  of  the  article  was  inadvert- 
ently betrayed  into  a  remark  which  did  injustice 
to  the  patriotic  sentiments  of  Mr.  Story.  We 
accord  to  the  author  the  space  to  correct  this 
impression,  and    explain    his    position   with    the 

greatest  pleasure: 

"  Rome,  November  26,  1886. 

"To  the  Editor  of  the  Home  Journal : 

"  I  have  just  received  a  copy  of  the  Home 
Journal  for  the  24th  of  October,  containing  a  very 


246         REMINISCENCES  OF  W.  W.  STORY. 

friendly  notice  of  my  work  on  the  '  Proportions  of 
the  Human  Form  According  to  a  New  Canon,'  in 
which  the  writer  states:  'Mr.  Story,  the  author, 
is  an  American,  and  son  of  the  great  American 
jurist;  he  is  now  in  Rome,  but  is  a  subject  of  her 
majest3^,  Queen  Victoria.  Upon  being  asked  once 
why  he  gave  up  his  American  citizenship,  he 
answered  that  he  was  recognized  and  patronized 
by  Englishmen  and  denied  by  his  own  country- 
men. He  very  naturally  became  a  resident  of 
that  country  when  his  professional  ability  was 
acknowledged.' 

"  The  writer  of  this  paragraph  has  inadvertently 
made  a  statement  which,  in  all  respects  and  in  all 
details,  is  utterly  without  foundation.  Far  from 
having  renounced  my  American  citizenship  and 
become  an  English  subject,  I  am  as  warmly 
attached  to  my  country  as  ever,  as  ready  to  stand 
by  her  in  her  success  as  I  was  to  aid  and  defend 
her  by  word  and  pen,  as  far  as  in  me  lay,  during 
that  momentous  struggle  for  liberty  and  union 
which  she  maintained  with  such  heroism,  deter- 
mination, and  fortitude.  Now  that  she  has  passed 
through  that  fiery  ordeal  of  civil  war  —  coming 
forth  from  it  stronger,  more  firm  of  purpose,  and 
higher  of  resolve  than  ever,  more  prosperous  at 
home  and  honored  abroad  —  my  faith  and  my 
pride  in  her  are  strengthened  and  confirmed. 

"  I  was  born  an  American  and  I  shall  die  an 


"  FIAMMETTA,"  ETC.  247 

American.  Were  it  true  that  I  am  denied  by  my 
countrymen  (which  I  hope  is  not  the  case)  it 
would  be  a  paltry  reason  for  renouncing  my  alle- 
giance to  my  country.  I  am  not  '  a  resident  of 
that  country  where  my  professional  ability  was 
acknowledged';  and,  grateful  as  I  ever  must  be  to 
England  and  Englishmen  for  their  prompt,  liberal, 
and  generous  recognition  of  all  I  have  done,  or 
endeavored  to  do,  I  can  never  forget  that  I  am  an 

American. 

"  Your  obedient  servant, 

"  W.  W.  Story." 

From  Vanity  Fair,  October  10,  1895,  is  the 
following:  "  The  artistic  colony  of  Rome  had  its 
acknowledged  and  honored  leader  in  the  person  of 
William  Wetmore  Story.  He  was  a  man  of  pres- 
ence, manner,  and  accomplishment.  On  the  occa- 
sion of  one  of  his  rare  visits  to  England  in  1887, 
the  University  of  Oxford  accorded  him  an  honorary 
D.  C.  L." 


XL  VII. 

Statue  of  Christ.      Poem,  "  Io  Victis." 
(1886-1887.) 

During  the  years  of  1886-7  Mr.  Story  was  en- 
gaged upon  the  model  for  his  colossal  "  Christ," 
which  someone  has  called  "his  matchless  and 
magnetic  Christ,  the  grandest  idealization  of 
Divinity,-  moved  with  the  tender  compassion  for 
tired  and  tried  humanity.  It  is  a  most  powerful 
sermon  in  stone,  and  if  placed  in  a  Christian 
temple  where  the  light  might  fall  full  upon  it,  no 
word  of  preacher  nor  song  of  choir  would  be 
needed  to  draw  men  to  the  feet  of  the  loving, 
tender  Master,  who  uttered  the  most  significant 
invitation  ever  given  —  the  invitation  that  is  carved 
deep  into  the  marble  pedestal:  '  Come  unto  me, 
all  ye  that  labor  and  are  heavy  laden,  and  I  will 
give  you  rest.' " 

Our   Lord  stands   a  solemn,   white,   beautiful 

presence,  clothed  in  the  oriental  costume  of  an 

Arab  Sheik,  the  costume  of  His  country  and  His 

time,  which  includes  even  the  head  covering,  and, 

so  far  as  is  known,  is  its  first  appearance  with  Him 

in  sculpture. 

(248) 


STATUE   OF   CHRIST.  249 

Wilford  Scawen  Blunt,  who  married  a  grand- 
daughter of  Lord  Byron,  and  lives  a  part  of  each 
year  on  the  outskirts  of  the  desert  near  Cairo 
(himself  the  author  of  many  charming  poems), 
loaned  to  Mr.  Story  the  Arab  robes  which  were 
used  as  the  draperies  of  his  Christ. 

From  the  head-drapery  to  the  feet  these  gar- 
ments fall  and  flow  in  fine  sacerdotal  folds.  The 
poise  of  the  whole  figure  is  patrician.  The  full 
forehead,  deep-set  eyes,  the  slender  and  slightly 
aquiline  nose,  which  alone  suggests  the  Hebraic 
origin,  the  delicately  formed  but  strong  mouth, 
which  is  not  hidden  by  the  light,  pointed  beard, 
and  the  beautiful  long-fingered  hands,  slightly  up- 
lifted—  all  express  the  divine  intelligence,  com- 
passion, and  love  which  His  words,  "  Come  unto 
me,"  voiced  over  1800  years  ago,  and  will  continue 
to  voice  for  all  time,  a  Godlike  understanding  of 
human  sufferings  and  human  needs.  Intellectual 
expression  in  his  statues  has  ever  been  conceded 
as  one  of  the  strongest  points  in  Story's  art;  and 
this  powerful  representation  of  Our  Lord  in 
marble  appeals  most  touchingly  to  those  of  whom 
the  artist  has  written  as  Real  Victors,  though 
vanquished,  in  his  poem  called 

IO  VICTIS  ! 

I  sing  the  hymn  of  the  conquered,  who  fell  in  the  Battle  of 
Life  — 

The  hymn  of  the  wounded,  the  beaten,  who  died  over- 
whelmed in  the  strife  — 


250         REMINISCENCES   OF  W.  W.  STORY. 

Not  the  jubilant  song  of  the  victors,  for  whom  the  resound- 
ing acclaim 
Of  nations  was  lifted  in  chorus,   whose  brows  wore  the 

chaplet  of  fame, 
But  the  hymn  of  the  low  and  the  humble,  the  weary,  the 

broken  in  heart, 
Who  strove  and  who  failed,  acting  bravely  a  silent  and 

desperate  part; 
Whose  youth  bore  no  flower  on  its  branches,  whose  hopes 

burned  in  ashes  away, 
From  whose  hands  slipped  the  prize  they  had  grasped  at, 

who  stood  at  the  dying  of  day 
With  the  wreck  of  their  life  all  around  them,   unpitied, 

unheeded,  alone, 
With  death  swooping  down  o'er  their  failure,  and  all  but 

their  faith  overthrown. 

While  the  voice  of  the  world  shouts  its  chorus  —  its  pean  for 

those  who  have  won  — 
While  the  trumpet  is  sounding  triumphant,  and  high  to  the 

breeze  and  the  sun 
Glad  banners  are  waving,  hands  clapping,  and  hurrying 

feet 
Thronging  after  the  laurel-crowned  victors,  I  stand  on  the 

field  of  defeat, 
In  the  shadow,  with  those  who  are  fallen,  and  wounded, 

and  dying,  and  there 
Chant  a  requiem  low,  place  my  hand  on  their  pain-knotted 

brows,  breathe  a  prayer, 
Hold  the  hand  that  is  helpless,  and  whisper,   "  They  only 

the  victory  win 
Who  have  fought  the  good  fight  and  have  vanquished  the 

demon  that  tempts  us  within; 
Who  have  held  to  their  faith  unseduced  by  the  prize  that 

the  world  holds  on  high; 
Who  have  dared  for  a  high  cause  to  suffer,  resist,  fight  —  if 

need  be,  to  die." 


STATUE   OF    CHRIST.  251 

Speak,  History!  who  are   Life's  Victors?    Unroll  thy  long 

annals  and  say  — 
Are  they  those  whom  the  world  called  the  victors  —  who 

won  the  success  of  a  day  ? 
The  Martyrs  or  Nero?    The  Spartans  who  fell  at  Ther 

mopylae's  tryst, 
Or  the  Persians  and  Xerxes?     His  judges  or  Socrates? 

Pilate  or  Christ  ? 

"It  is  a  beautiful  piece  of  marble,  is  it  not  ?" 
said  Mr.  Story  one  day  to  a  friend  whom  the 
query  aroused  from  a  reverie  before  his  "  Christ." 
"And  just  to  think  that  this  statue  and  that  Cleo- 
patra," waving  his  hand  toward  his  last  work  of 
that  name,  "came  out  of  the  same  block  !  strange, 
was  it  not  ?  The  marble  was  an  unusually  perfect 
piece."     The  friend  answered: 

"  Close  company,  sir,  for  such  characters,  but 
not  so  strange,  since  this  coincidence  has  its  proto- 
type, as  a  matter  of  fact,  in  the  uncrowned  '  Mag- 
dalen' centuries  ago;  but  what  is  strange,  sir,  is 
that  two  such  characters  could  be  summoned  from 
this  little  marble  world  by  the  same  human  brain, 
and  be  by  it  endowed;  the  one  speaking  with  the 
supremacy  of  the  Spirit  Divine,  the  other  with 
the  supremacy  of  human  flesh  and  blood."  At 
this  answer  Mr.  Story  turned  away  in  silence, 
and  when  he  came  back  there  was  the  quiet  smile 
of  the  satisfied  upon  his  strong,  fine  face,  as  he 
changed  the  subject.  He  had  taken  his  "  flower 
of  praise  " —  so  he  called  genuine  admiration  — 


252        REMINISCENCES  OF  W.  W.  STORY. 

from  a  very  plain  little  woman,  and  placed  it  in  his 
heart's  keeping  under  the  seal  of  silence,  feeling 
that  in  doing  so  he  was  best  understood. 

One  day  there  visited  the  sculptor's  studio  three 
Americans,  one  of  whom  was  a  handsome  and 
very  bright  young  married  woman  from  Washing- 
ton, D.  C.  The  usual  stroll  was  taken  through 
the  different  rooms,  and  Mr.  Story,  after  his  habit, 
with  natural  and  justifiable  pride,  called  special 
attention  to  some  works  of  his  son,  Waldo  Story — 
the  beautiful  reliefs  of  the  Rothschild  country- 
seat,  Tring  Park,  England.  After  these  figures  of 
light  and  air  had  received  their  due  praise  from 
all,  the  party  returned  to  take  a  last  look  at  the 
"Christ"  and  the  new  "Cleopatra."    Extending  her 

hand   to   bid   Mr.  Story  good-by,    Madam   C 

looked  very  solemn.  She  then  placed  it  upon  her 
bosom,  and  looking  directly  at  the  sculptor  she 
said: 

"  I  feel  it  all  in  my  heart,  right  here,  Mr.  Story 
— I  can  not  say  one  word." 

Story  would  have  been  more  or  less  than  man 
had  he  not  also  felt  what  she  could  not  say  in  his 
own  heart. 


XLVIII. 

"Thetis  and  Achilles."     Festival  of  Bologna 
University.     Honors  and  Decorations. 

(1887-1888.) 

A  cultivated  woman  writing  from  Rome  of  her 
visit  to  Story's  studio,  says : 

"  Many  of  the  finest  creations  in  his  studio  I 
can  not  now  recall  by  name,  but  one  group  is 
indelibly  impressed  upon  my  memory.  It  is  called 
'Thetis  and  Achilles.'  The  goddess  mother, 
Thetis,  is  seated,  holding  in  her  arms  the  child 
Achilles.  It  is  a  study  in  Homer  and  nature. 
What  the  poet  sang  as  he  perceived  it  in  nature, 
the  sculptor  has  clothed  in  form.  You  may  spend 
as  much  time  demonstrating  that  there  was  never 
any  such  person  as  Thetis  as  you  please,  but 
Homer  will  never  be  demonstrated  out  of  exist- 
ence. Science  is  essential,  but  she  is  the  hand- 
maid, not  the  sovereign;  and  Professor  Tyndall 
himself  admits  this  joyously  when  he  writes  of  the 
'  Scientific  Uses  of  the  Imagination.'  And  I  saw 
lovely  Thetis  this  morning  rise  from  the  waves  — 
not  with  the  scientific,  but  with  Homeric  eye  of 

(253) 


254         REMINISCENCES  OF  W.  W.  STORY. 

the  imagination.  What  is  art  but  a  means  of  cul- 
ture? True  art  is  a  teacher,  silent  but  persuasive 
and  permanent.  What  is  $10,000  for  a  matchless 
group  of  statuary,  speaking  the  love  of  the 
ancients,  suggesting  undying  possibilities  for  the 
future,  and  mutely  telling  every  child  that  passes 
by  of  that  fair  Greek  land  where  life  and  art  and 
law  rose  into  clearer  light  than  ever  before  or 
since  upon  earth  ? 

"  Thetis  points  to  Pericles,  and  Pericles  tells  of 
an  eloquence  seldom  vouchsafed  by  the  gods  to 
mortal  man.  What  else  can  lift  you  so  high?  A 
statue  may  be  eloquent;  so  may  a  building;  so 
may  a  silent,  noble  life,  unselfishly  lived  for  the 
benefit  of  others." 

"  The  memorable  Otto-centenary  Festival  *  of 
the  University  of  Bologna,  held  on  the  nth, 
12th,  and  13th  inst,  was  brilliant  and  successful 
throughout. 

"The  great  function  of  Tuesday  was  the 
reception  of  the  delegates  and  presentation  of 
addresses  in  presence  of  the  King,  Queen,  and 
Minister  of  Education  (Bosselli)  in  the  Archigin- 
nasio  —  a  magnificent  scene.  Some  twenty  se- 
lected delegates  presented  their  addresses,  with 
short  speeches  in  Italian,  French,  Latin,  and 
Greek,  the  most  warmly  received  among  whom 
were,  Professor  Hoffman  of  Berlin  and  Professor 

♦  From  the  Atlienceum  of  June,  1888. 


"THETIS  AND  ACHILLES,"   ETC.  255 

Story  of  the  Washington  Academy  (son  of  the 
famous  judge),  who  spoke  in  excellent  Italian." 

From  the  Nation  of  July,  1888,  is  this  notice: 

"To  return  to  Bononia  Alma  Mater  Studio- 
rum.  Seldom  has  there  been  seen  such  a  pictur- 
esque gathering  of  learned  men  as  that  which 
met  on  the  morning  of  June  12th  in  the  courtyard 
of  the  university.  After  the  King  and  Queen  had 
entered  the  Archiginnasio  and  had  been  received 
by  the  professors  ....  the  representatives  of 
foreign  universities  presented  their  addresses  of 
congratulation.     .     .     . 

"The  leaders  of  deputations  made  brief  ad- 
dresses, among  which  that  of  Mr.  W.  W.  Story 
was  one  of  the  most  felicitous,  accentuating  the 
fact  that  America  as  a  civilized  country  was  but 
half  as  old  as  the  University  of  Bologna,  and  that 
to  Italy  we  owed  both  our  discovery  and  our 
name.  As  the  names  of  the  laureates  were 
called  out,  each  man  walked  up  to  the  foot  of  the 
platform,  bowed  to  the  sovereigns,  had  the  great 
doctoral  ring  passed  on  and  off  his  right  forefin- 
ger, and  received  the  congratulations  of  the  rec- 
tor, together  with  his  illuminated  diploma,  from 
which  hung,  inclosed  in  a  silver  case,  the  great 
wax  impression  of  the  university  seal." 

It  was  in  December,  1888,  that  the  description 
of  "  bononia  ducet  "  fell  from  Mr.  Story's  own 
lips.     His  face  lighted  up  with  a  glow  of  its  rich 


25&         REMINISCENCES  OF  W.  W.  STORY. 

remembrance  while  he  spoke  of  the  festal  deco- 
rations of  flags,  banners,  garlands,  and  life  in  the 
galleried  streets  and  open  piazzas  of  this  old 
town  with  its  two  leaning  towers.  He  dwelt 
briefly  enough  upon  his  own  honors  and  gave 
generous  length  to  those  of  others. 

In  Italy  Mr.  Story  was  Commendatore  of  the 
Corona  d'ltalia,  member  of  the  Academia  della 
Sta  Cecilia,  and  member  of  the  Society  of  the 
Arcadians.  In  America  he  was  a  member  of  the 
Academy  of  Arts  and  Sciences,  member  of 
the  Massachusetts  Historical  Society,  and,  as  Mr. 
Henry  M.  Brooks  writes,  "  Mr.  Story  was  made 
an  honorary  member  of  the  Essex  Institute  in 
1887." 


XLIX. 

"  Conversations  in  a  Studio."  Statue,  "  Neme- 
sis." Medallion  of  Theodore  Parker. 
Shelley's  Bust 

(1890-1892.) 

The  New  York  Tribune  printed  the  following- 
notice  of  this  work,  which  was  published  in 
Boston,  in  1890,  by  Houghton,  Mifflin  &  Co.: 

"  Mr.  Story's  conversations  are  entirely  free 
from  any  suggestion  of  artificiality,  and  so  much 
the  more  interesting  and  impressive.  There  is, 
too,  something  for  everybody  in  these  delightful 
gossiping  dialogues,  and  not  a  little  which  will  be 
new  to  most  readers,  as,  for  instance,  the  informa- 
tion about  the  prices  brought  by  paintings  and 
statues  in  antiquity. 

"  One  of  the  most  interesting  of  the  discourses 
is  upon  the  ancient  pronunciation  of  Latin.  Mr. 
Story  holds  that  in  all  probability  the  modern 
Italian  comes  nearer  to  it  than  any  other.  Noth- 
ing can  be  sounder  than  his  remarks  on  the 
English  pronunciation  of  Latin;  moreover,  he 
observes  that  the  church  Latin  must  be  very  old, 

17  (257) 


258         REMINISCENCES  OP  W.  W.  STORY. 

and  that  naturally  it  would  undergo  fewer  changes 
of  pronunciation  than  the  vulgar  speech.  There 
is  force  in  this  consideration,  and  the  whole  argu- 
ment, copiously  illustrated  as  it  is  by  specific 
examples,  will  repay  careful  perusal.  The  follow- 
ing little  piece  of  evidence  concerning  English 
Latin  is  very  much  to  the  point: 

"  'At  the  last  council  in  Rome  to  declare  the 
dogma  of  infallibility,  bishops  were  gathered  from 
every  part  of  the  earth,  and  the  language  they 
adopted  was  Latin.  English  Latin  was,  however, 
quite  unintelligible,  and  the  representatives  from 
England  were  forced  to  use  the  Italian  pronuncia- 
tion in  order  to  be  understood.  They  might  as 
well  have  talked  Choctaw  as  English  Latin.' 

"We  despair  at  any  attempt  to  recount  the 
variety  of  topics  broached  and  considered  in  these 
truly  interesting  studio  talks,  for  they  embrace  the 
lightest  and  the  gravest  subjects,  and  range  from 
the  fashions  of  the  day  to  the  problems  of  life. 

"No  more  attractive  mode  of  presenting  the 
views  of  a  thoughtful  artist  upon  'things  in  gen- 
eral '  could  have  been  devised.  The  pretty  and 
convenient  little  volumes  can  be  taken  up  at 
almost  any  moment,  and,  opened  almost  anywhere, 
will  unfailingly  afford  entertainment,  suggestion, 
and  information." 

The  winter  of  189 1-2  found  Mr.  Story  working 
over  the  clay  of  a  tall,  solemn  figure.     Many  and 


"CONVERSATIONS   IN  A  STUDIO,"  ETC.      259 

close  were  the  folds  that  shrouded  her  somber 
form,  and  her  deeply-hooded  head,  and  stern, 
shadowed  face,  down  to  the  narrow  pedestal  upon 
which  the  figure  stood.  The  gray  light  of  clouded 
afternoons  filtered  through  the  sky-windows  of 
his  private  work-room,  adding  just  that  ghostly 
dimness  needed  to  complete  this  embodiment  of 
gloom,  thus  described  by  Mr.  Story: 

Oppressed  by  pain,  by  grief  subdued, 
I  close  at  night  my  weary  eyes, 
When  in  the  dubious  twilight  dim, 
Betwixt  reality  and  dream, 
The  awful  shape  of  Nemesis  — 
The  absolute  —  before  me  stood. 

Her  hands  within  her  robes  involved, 

And  folded  square  upon  her  breast, 

Immovable,  in  perfect  rest, 

From  sight  of  human  eyes  concealed 

The  dread  decree  of  Fate  she  held, 

By  time  and  death  to  be  resolved. 

Severe  was  she  in  mood  and  mien, 

Like  one  who  never  saw  surprise; 

Who,  deaf  alike  to  love  and  hate,  . 

Or  joy,  or  fear,  impassionate 

Decreed  the  doom  —  decreed  the  prize  — 

Inexorable,  yet  serene. 

This  statue  has  never  yet  been  put  into  marble 
or  bronze,  but  has  remained  in  the  ungrateful 
plaster  stage. 

"An  interesting  ceremony  took  place  in  the  cem- 
etery at  Florence  this  afternoon  —  the  old  Protes- 


260        REMINISCENCES  OF  W.  W.  STORY. 

tant  cemetery,  in  the  Viale  Principe  Amedio  —  and 
was  the  scene  of  a  pathetic  act.  It  was  the  occa- 
sion of  the  unveiling  of  the  new  tombstone  erected 
over  the  grave  of  Theodore  Parker,  the  famous 
American  philanthropist,  orator,  and  divine. 

"The  new  stone  is  of  white  marble  with  a  me- 
dallion of  Parker  and  an  inscription  in  letters  of 
red  bronze.  It  is  the  work  of  Mr.  W.  W.  Story, 
the  distinguished  American  sculptor,  and  was  a 
labor  of  love,  Mr.  Story  declining  to  receive  any 
remuneration.  The  fund  with  which  the  new 
monument  was  paid  for  was  raised  mainly  through 
the  efforts  of  Mr.  Theodore  Stanton  of  Paris." 

The  orator  of  the  day  was  the  Hon.  Charles  K. 
Tuckerman,  formerly  United  States  Minister  to 
Greece. 

Mr.  Story  also  chiseled  a  bust  of  Theodore 
Parker.  Writing  of  a  visit  to  the  sculptor's  studio, 
a  brilliant  American  said: 

"And  Theodore  Parker's  head  is  there  —  the 
great  emancipation  preacher,  whose  battle-cry 
invoked  freedom  for  soul  and  body.  Of  all  the 
busts  of  Parker  I  have  seen,  this  by  Story  is  the 
only  one  which,  without  destroying  the  likeness, 
idealizes  the  face  sufficiently  to  do  justice  to  the 
man  who  was  an  incarnate  conscience.  Conscience 
crudely  portrayed  is  unattractive,  but  tinted  with 
poetic  fire  it  kindles  the  world.  Parker  was  not  a 
poet,  but  only  a  poet  could  represent  him." 


"CONVERSATIONS  IN  A  STUDIO,"  ETC.      261 

The  year  is  omitted  in  the  date  of  the  following 
press  notice  of  Shelley's  bust: 

"The  bust  of  Shelley,  which  was  placed  in 
Upper  School  in  June  and  has  been  presented  to 
the  school  by  some  old  Etonians,  among  whom 
may  be  mentioned,  besides  the  Prime  Minister,  two 
poets,  Algernon  Swinburn  and  Robert  Bridges. 
It  is  the  work  of  Mr.  W.  W.  Story  of  Rome,  who 
had  executed  a  bust  in  plaster  many  years  ago." 

The  following  extract  from  a  letter  lately  writ- 
ten by  the  sculptor  to  one  of  the  subscribers  may 
be  of  interest: 

"  I  have  always  been  a  great  admirer  of  Shel- 
ley's poems,  and  I  determined  to  try  my  best  to 
make  a  bust  which  should  not  only  conform  to  the 
portraits  now  existing  of  him,  but  also  to  the 
descriptions  of  his  expression  and  features  given 
by  his  friends.  The  portraits  are  not  satisfactory, 
and  acknowledged  not  to  be  by  those  who  knew 
him,  and  the  problem  was  to  reconcile  them  with 
the  descriptions  by  his  friends.  All  these  repre- 
sentations I  carefully  examined  and  endeavored  to 
interpret.  I  knew  Leigh  Hunt  very  well;  he  often 
described  Shelley's  appearance  to  me,  as  did, 
among  others,  Severn  and  Landor." 

With  such  assistance  Mr.  Story  modeled  the 
bust  of  the  poet,  which,  even  in  the  ungrateful 
plaster,  seems  alive  with  Shelley's  poetic  soul. 


Michael  Angelo.  Phidias  and  the  Elgin 
Marbles.  The  Art  of  Casting  in  Plaster. 
Conversation  with  Marcus  Aurelius.  Dis- 
tortions of  the  English  Stage,  as  in  Mac- 
beth.    Robert  Browning. 

(1891-1893.) 

"  Excursions  in  Art  and  Letters,"  by  William 
Wetmore  Story,  D.C.  L.  (Oxon),  Com.  Corona  Italia, 
Off.  Leg.  d'Honneur,  etc.  Mr.  Story  begins  these 
"  Excursions  "  with  the  name  of  Michael  Angelo. 

"  The  overthrow  of  the  pagan  religion  was  the 
death-blow  of  pagan  art.  The  temples  shook  to 
their  foundations;  the  statues  of  the  gods  shud- 
dered; through  the  ancient  realm  was  heard  the 
wail,  '  Pan,  great  Pan  is  dead!  '  Orpheus  alone 
lingered  in  the  guise  of  the  Good  Shepherd. 

"  Nothing  utterly  dies.     And   after  the  long, 

apparently  dead  winter  of  the  Middle  Ages  the 

spring  came  again — the  spring  of  the  Renaissance. 

The  church  itself  shook  off  its  apathy,  inspired  by 

a  new  spirit.     One  after  another  there  arose  those 

great  men  whose  names  shine  like  planets  in  his- 

(262) 


MICHAEL  ANGELO,  ETC.  263 

tory:  Dante  with  his  wonderful  '  Divina  Corn- 
media,'  written,  as  it  were,  with  a  pen  of  fire 
against  a  stormy  background  of  night;  Boccacio 
with  his  sunny  sheaf  of  idyllic  tales;  Petrarch, 
lover  of  liberty,  patriot,  philosopher  as  well  as 
poet,  and  a  little  later  Ariosto  and  Tasso.  Music 
also  began  to  develop  itself;  Guido  di  Arezzo 
arranged  the  scale  and  the  new  method  of  notation. 
Art  also  sent  forth  a  sudden  and  glorious  corusca- 
tion of  genius,  beginning  with  Cimabue  and  Giotto. 
The  marble  gods  rose  with  renewed  life  from  their 
graves  and  reasserted  over  the  world  of  art  the 
dominion  they  had  lost  in  the  realm  of  religion. 

"As  Italy  above  all  other  lands  is  the  land  of 
the  Renaissance,  so  Florence  above  all  cities  is 
the  city  of  the,  Renaissance.  The  ghosts  of  great 
men  meet  you  at  every  turn.  Here  is  the  stone 
upon  which  Dante  sat;  here  Brunelleschi  watched 
the  growing  of  his  mighty  dome,  and  here  Michael 
Angelo  stood  and  gazed  at  it  while  dreaming  of 
that  other  mighty  dome  of  St.  Peters  and  said: 
'Like  it  I  will  not,  and  better  I  can  not.'  One 
walks  through  the  streets  guided  by  memory,  look- 
ing behind  more  than  before,  and  seeing  with  the 
eyes  of  the  imagination.  Santa  Maria  Novella, 
Michael  Angelo  called  his  'Sposa,'  and  here  is 
Santa  Croce,  the  sacred  and  solemn  mausoleum  of 
many  of  its  mighty  dead,  and  here,  among  others, 
is  the  monument  of  Michael  Angelo.     Here  are 


264         REMINISCENCES  OF  W.  W.  STORY. 

the  fortifications  at  which  Michael  Angelo  worked 
as  engineer  and  combatant. 

"Of  all  the  great  men  who  shed  luster  over 
Florence,  no  one  so  domineers  over  it  with  his 
memory  and  presence  as  Michael  Angelo.  Every- 
thing in  Florence  recalls  him. 

"  But  more  than  all  other  places,  the  church  of 
San  Lorenzo  is  identified  with  him,  and  the  Medi- 
cean  chapel  is  more  of  a  monument  to  him  than 
to  those  in  honor  of  whom  it  was  built. 

.  .  .  "A  man  of  noble  life,  high  faith,  pure 
instincts,  great  intellect,  powerful  will,  and  inex- 
haustible energy;  proud  and  scornful,  but  never 
vain;  violent  of  character,  but  generous  and  true; 
never  guilty  of  a  single  unworthy  act;  a  silent, 
serious,  unsocial,  self-involved  man,  oppressed  with 
the  weight  of  great  thuoghts  and  burdened  by 
many  cares  and  sorrows,  he  could  not  have  been  a 
pleasant  companion  and  he  was  never  a  lover  of 
woman.  His  friendship  with  Vittoria  Colonna  was 
worlds  away  from  the  senses.     He  writes: 

Rapt  above  earth  by  might  of  one  fair  face , 
Hers  in  whose  sway  alone  my  heart  delights, 
I  mingle  with  the  blest  of  those  pure  heights. 
I  raise  my  thoughts,  inform  my  deeds  and  words, 
Clasping  her  beauty  in  my  soul's  embrace. 

In  his  soul's  embrace,  not  in  his  arms.  He 
admired  Petrarca  for  his  canzone  to  liberty,  not 
for  his  sonnets  to  Laura. 


MICHAEL  ANGELO,  ETC.  265 

"  With  a  grim  humor  and  none  of  the  lighter 
graces  of  life  he  went  his  solitary  way.  It  was  in 
his  old  age  that  he  made  a  drawing  of  himself  in 
a  child's  go-cart,  with  the  motto  'Ancora  imparo  ' 
—  I  am  still  learning.  And  one  winter  day  toward 
the  end  of  his  life  the  Cardinal  Gonsalvi  met  him 
walking  toward  the  Colosseum  during  a  snow- 
storm. Stopping  his  carriage,  the  cardinal  asked 
where  he  was  going  in  such  stormy  weather.  '  To 
school,'  he  answered,  'to  learn  something.'  " 

"  Phidias  and  the  Elgin  Marbles  "  is  Mr.  Story's 
excursion  into  the  realm  of  Grecian  art.  He  goes 
in  the  interest  of  truth  into  art-history,  which  he 
finds,  after  careful  and  exhausting  research  upon 
this  subject,  to  be  as  follows: 

"The  marble  statues  in  the  pediment  of  the 
Parthenon  at  Athens,  as  well  as  the  metopes  and 
bassi-relievi  which  adorned  the  temple  dedicated 
to  Minerva,  are  popularly  supposed  to  have  been 
either  the  work  of  Phidias  himself,  or  executed  by 
his  scholars  after  his  designs  and  under  his  super- 
intendence. This  opinion  has  become  accepted  as 
an  undoubted  fact,  but  a  careful  examination  into 
the  original  authorities  will  show  that  it  is  unsup- 
ported by  any  satisfactory  evidence. 

"  The  main  ground  upon  which  it  is  founded  is 
that  Phidias  was  appointed  by  Pericles  director  of 
the  public  works  at  Athens,  and  occupied  that 
office  during  the  building  of  the  Parthenon,"  etc. 


266         REMINISCENCES  OF  W.  W.  STORY. 

Mr.  Story  proceeds  with  a  very  careful  argu- 
ment, quoting  from  many  authorities  in  behalf  of 
his  belief  upon  this  subject,  as  above  stated,  and 
any  student  or  lover  of  art  would  find  much  pleas- 
ure and  profit  in  reading  "  Phidias  and  the  Elgin 
Marbles." 

"  The  Art  of  Casting  in  Plaster  Among  the 
Ancient  Greeks  and  Romans"  appears  to  be  a 
subtile  analysis  of  the  work,  "  Du  Moulage  en 
Pldtre  ches  les  Anciens"  par  M.  Charles  C.  Per- 
kins, for  the  purpose  of  ascertaining  and  placing 
the  correct  date  upon  the  first  usage  of  this 
process  in  art. 

"  That  statues  were  modeled  in  plaster  by  the 
ancients  there  is  no  doubt,"  Mr.  Story  states,  but 
he  denies  that  they  were  east  in  plaster,  and  refer- 
ring to  Mr.  Perkins,  he  says:  "  We  do  not  think  he 
has  made  out  his  case."  The  sculptor  then  gives 
his  reasons  for  this  conclusion.  He  afterward 
adds  a  description  of  the  process  of  casting  in 
plaster  as  follows: 

"The  use  of  gypsum  to  take  impiessions  from 
fiat  molds  is  suggested  by  Theophrastus.  From 
this  simple  process  of  stamping  in  a  shallow 
mold  to  casting  from  life  or  from  the  round  is 
enormous.  It  is  no  longer  a  simple  operation,  but 
a  nice  and  complicated  one.  The  part  to  be  cast 
must  first  be  oiled  or  soaped,  then  covered  with 
plaster  about  the  consistency  of  rich  cream,  then 


MICHAEL  ANGELO,   ETC.  267 

divided  into  sections  while  the  material  is  still 
tender  (so  as  to  enable  the  mold  to  be  withdrawn 
part  by  part  without  breakage),  then  allowed  to 
set.  The  mold  must  be  carefully  removed  by  a 
hammer  and  chisel.  This  is  an  elaborate  process 
as  applied  to  an  arm  or  hand,  but  when  applied  to  a 
living  face  it  is  not  only  difficult  but  disagreeable, 
and  unless  du,e  care  be  used  it  may  be  dangerous." 
From  Laurence  Button's  article  on  "  A  Collec- 
tion of  Death  Masks,"  in  Harper's,  1892,  is  the 
following:  "Two  casts  were  taken  from  the  liv- 
ing face  of  Washington,  the  first  by  Joseph 
Wright,  in  1783;  it  was  broken  by  the  nervous 
artist  before  it  was  yet  dry.  The  original  Hou- 
don  mask,  taken  in  1785,  is  now  in  the  possession 
of  W.  W.  Story  of  Rome.  He  traces  it  directly 
from  Houdan's  hands,  and  naturally  prizes  it  very 
much.  He  says  there  is  no  question  that  it  was 
made  from  the  living  face  of  Washington,  and 
that  therefore  it  is  the  most  absolutely  authentic 
reproduction  of  the  actual  form  and  features  of 
his  face  that  exists.  In  all  respects  any  portrait 
which  materially  differs  from  it  must  be  wrong. 
Mr.  Story  can  not  account  for  the  fact  that  the 
sculptor  opened  the  eyes,  except  by  supposing 
that  he  did  not  remain  long  enough  at  Mount 
Vernon  to  study  and  model  the  eyes  from  the 
face  of  Washington  himself.  It  is  just  to  add 
here,  Mr.  Story  says,  that  never,  to  his  knowledge 


268        REMINISCENCES  OF  W.  W.  STORY. 

or  belief,  has  a  cast  been  made  from  the  original 
which  he  owns." 

It  is  rumored  that  during  the  removal  of  the 
plaster  from  his  face,  the  Father  of  his  Country 
used  language  rather  strong  than  choice,  as  a 
clean  shave  did  not  prevent  a  hair  here  and  there 
(as  hairs  will  intrude)  from  being  imprisoned 
past  remedy  in  the  plaster  and  pulling  hard,  as 
hairs  will,  without  the  slightest  consideration  of 
so  great  a  man  or  his  deeds.  In  fact,  Mr.  Hutton 
relates  that  after  the  mask  taken  by  Wright,  "  the 
subject  absolutely,  and,  it  is  whispered,  profanely, 
refused  to  submit  to  the  unpleasant  operation 
again,"  which,  notwithstanding,  he  did  in  the 
behalf  of  Houdon  in  1785.  From  this  mask  Mr. 
Story  has  modeled  a  bust  of  Washington. 

Resuming  the  subject  of  "  Casting  in  Plaster 
Among  the  Ancients,"  Mr.  Story  says: 

"  But  to  cast  from  a  statue  in  clay  is  still  more 
difficult.  The  extremest  care  and  nicety  are 
required  in  making  the  proper  divisions,  in  ex- 
tracting the  clay  and  irons,  reconnecting  the 
sections,  and  breaking  off  the  outer  shell  of  the 
mold.  In  fact,  the  modern  process  is  so  com- 
plicated that  no  one  can  see  it  without  being 
convinced  that  it  must  have  been  slowly  arrived 
at  by  many  slips  and  many  failures." 

In  conclusion  Mr.  Story  adds:  "The  process 
of  casting  in  plaster,  in  our  acceptance   of  the 


MICHAEL  ANGELO,  ETC.  269 

phrase,  is  of  modern  origin,  and  so  far  as  we  know 
was  invented  in  the  fifteenth  century,  a  little 
before  the  time  of  Verrocchio  (1432-1488),  the 
master  of  Leonardo  di  Vinci.  He  was  among  the 
first  who  employed  it." 

"  A  Conversation  with  Marcus  Aurelius  "  begins 
with  this  picture: 

"It  was  a  dark  and  stormy  night  in  December. 
Everybody  in  the  house  had  long  been  in  bed  and 
asleep,  but,  deeply  interested  in  the  '  Meditations 
of  Marcus  Aurelius,'  I  had  prolonged  my  reading 
until  I  heard  the  bells  of  the  Cappucin  convent 
strike  for  two  o'clock.  I  laid  down  my  book  and 
began  to  reflect  upon  it.  The  fire  had  burned 
out,  and,  unwilling  yet  to  go,  I  threw  onto  it  a 
bundle  of  canne  and  a  couple  of  sticks.  Again  the 
fresh  flame  darted  out  and  gave  a  glow  to  the 
room.  Outside,  the  storm  was  fierce  and  passion- 
ate; gusts  beat  against  the  panes,  shaking  the  old 
windows  of  the  palace,  and  lashing  them  with  wild 
rain.  At  intervals  a  sudden  blue  light  flashed 
through  the  room,  followed  by  a  trampling  roar  of 
thunder  overhead.  As  I  sat  quietly  gazing  into 
the  fire,  musing  on  many  shadows  of  thought,  my 
imagination  went  back  into  the  far  past  when 
Marcus  Aurelius  led  his  legions  against  the  Quadi, 
the  Marcomanni,  and  the  Sarmati,  and  brought 
before  me  those  bleak  wilds  of  Pannonia,  the 
weather-beaten  tent  in  which  he  sat  so  many  a 


270         REMINISCENCES  OF  W.  W.  STORY. 

bleak  and  bitter  night,  after  the  duty  of  the  day 
was  done,  and  all  his  men  had  retired  to  rest, 
writing  in  his  private  diary  those  noble  '  Medita- 
tions,' which  are  one  of  the  most  precious  heri- 
tages we  have  of  ancient  life  and  thought.  At 
his  side  burns  the  flickering  torch.  Sentinels 
pass  to  and  fro.  The  cold  wind  flirts  and  flaps 
the  folds  of  the  praetorium  and  shakes  the  golden 
eagle  above  it.  He  is  ill  and  worn  with  toil  and 
care.  He  is  alone,  and  there,  under  the  shadow 
of  night,  he  sits  and  meditates,  and  writes  upon 
his  waxen  tablets  those  lofty  sentences  of  admoni- 
tion to  duty,  and  encouragement  to  virtue,  patient 
endurance  of  evil,  and  tranquillity  of  life,  that 
breathe  the  highest  of  morality  and  philosophy. 
Where  is  he  now  ?  What  is  he  now  ?  I  ask  my- 
self. The  hand  is  dust,  yet  the  thoughts  that  it 
recorded  are  as  fresh  and  living  as  ever.  Here  in 
this  little  book  are  rules  for  the  conduct  of  life 
that  might  shame  almost  any  Christian.  The 
mystery  is  solved  for  him,  which  we  are  guessing, 
and  his  is  either  a  larger,  sweeter  life,  growing  on 
and  on,  or  everlasting  rest.  He  believed  in  his 
gods  as  we  believe  in  ours.  How  could  these 
impure  and  passionate  existences  satisfy  a  nature 
so  high,  believing  in  justice  and  in  unjust  gods,  in 
purity  and  impure  gods  ? 

"  '  No,'  said  a  mild  voice,  '  I  did  not  believe  in 
impure  and  unjust  gods.' 


MICHAEL  ANGELO,  ETC.  271 

"And  looking  up  I  saw  before  me  the  calm  face 
of  the  emperor  and  philosopher  of  whom  I  was 
thinking.  There  he  stood  before  me  as  I  knew 
him  from  his  busts  and  statues.  I  know  not  why 
I  was  not  startled  to  see  him  there,  but  I  was  not. 
I  rose  to  greet  my  guest  with  reverence  due  to 
such  a  presence.  '  Do  not  disturb  yourself,'  he 
said,  smiling,  '  I  will  sit  here,  if  you  please,'  and 
so  speaking  he  took  the  seat  opposite  me  at  the 
fire.  '  Sit  you,'  he  continued,  '  and  I  will  endeavor 
to  answer  some  of  the  questions  you  were  asking 
of  yourself.' " 

Thereupon  follows  a  most  interesting  discus- 
sion of  religion,  philosophy,  and  art,  in  which  the 
emperor  maintains  that  popular  fables  are  but  the 
mystical  garb  behind  which  lie  great  facts  and 
truths,  and  that  "  nature  was  but  the  veil  which 
half  hid  the  divine  powers." 

Story's  "  Essay  Upon  the  Origin  of  the  Italian 
Language  "  gives  special  point  to  the  following: 
After  a  question  and  a  quotation  from  Story,  his 
august  visitor  remarked:  "  '  But  what  was  it  you 
said  after  you  asked  the  question  ?  You  seemed 
to  be  making  a  quotation  in  a  strange  tongue,  at 
least  a  tongue  I  never  heard.' 

"  '  That  was  Latin,'  I  answered,  blushing  a  little, 
'  and  from  Virgil  —  Virgilius,  perhaps  I  ought  to 
say,  or  perhaps  Maro.' 

"  '  Ah,  Latin,  was   it  ? '  he   said.    '  I   beg  your 


272         REMINISCENCES  OF  W.  W.  STORY. 

pardon.  I  thought  it  might  have  been  a  charm  to 
avert  the  Evil  Eye  that  you  were  uttering.'  " 

Much  of  great  interest  follows,  but  briefly  the 
visitation  concludes  thus: 

"  '  Oh,  tell  me,  for  you  know,'  I  cried;  '  what  is 
there  behind  this  dark  veil  which  we  call  death  ? 
What  is  it  ? ' 

"  There  was  a  blank  silence.  I  looked  up.  The 
chair  was  empty.  That  noble  figure  was  no  longer 
there.  I  rose  from  my  chair  with  the  influence  of 
him  who  had  left  me  filling  my  being.  I  went  to 
the  window,  pushed  by  the  curtains  and  looked 
out  upon  the  night.  The  clouds  were  broken,  and 
through  a  rift  of  deep,  intense  blue  the  moon  was 
looking  out  upon  the  earth.  Far  away  the  heavy 
and  ragged  storm  was  hovering  over  the  moun- 
tains, sullen  and  black,  and  I  recalled  the  words 
of  St.  Paul  to  the  Romans:  'When  the  Gentiles, 
which  have  not  the  law,  do  by  nature  the  things 
contained  in  the  law,  these,  having  not  the  law, 
are  a  law  unto  themselves;  and  the  doers  of  the 
law  shall  be  justified.'  " 

"  Distortions  of  the  English  Stage  as  Instanced 
in  Macbeth."— In  this,  the  last  of  these  "  Excur- 
sions," Mr.  Story  presents  an  unusual  view  of  the 
characters  of  Macbeth  and  Lady  Macbeth,  by 
reversing  them  as  they  are  accepted  from  the 
stage.     He  begins  by  saying: 

"  'Art  is  art  because  it  is  not  nature,'  is  the 


MICHAEL  ANGELO,  ETC.  273 

motto  of  the  idealists.  '  Art  is  but  the  imitation 
of  nature,'  say  the  naturalists.  The  truth  lies 
between  the  two.  Art  works  by  exaggeration  as 
well  as  by  imitation.  As  in  the  arts  of  painting 
and  sculpture  so  in  the  drama  and  on  the  stage — a 
strong  reaction  is  taking  place  against  the  stilted 
conventionalism  and  elaborate  artifice  of  the  last 
generation!  " 

Story  sees  in  Macbeth  the  instigator  and  per- 
petrator, remorseless  and  cruel,  of  continuous 
crimes,  whose  one  redeeming  trait  is  physical 
courage;  and  he  sees  in  Lady  Macbeth,  Macbeth's 
accomplice  in  one  murder  alone,  that  of  Duncan, 
and  for  the  doing  of  which  she  shows,  in  the 
interest  of  her  husband,  a  superb  force  of  mental 
energy  until  that  end  is  attained;  but  forever 
after,  until  her  death,  she  is  consumed  with  re- 
morse. 

Mr.  Story  takes  for  the  basis  of  his  argument 
these  words  of  Macbeth  to  his  wife: 

Be  innocent  of  the  knowledge,  dearest  chuck, 
Till  thou  applaud  the  deed; 

and  he  counts  the  ravings  of  Macbeth  but  hypo- 
critical cant,  adding  that  Lady  Macbeth  should  be 
presented  by  a  rather  small,  light-haired  woman, 
of  a  quick,  nervous  temperament  and  great  endur- 
ance, rather  than  by  the  grand,  dark-haired  figure 
of  Mrs.  Siddons,  who  represents  her  as  without 

18 


2  74         REMINISCENCES  OF  W.  W.  STORY. 

heart,  tenderness,  or  remorse,  so  that  we  hate  her 
and  pity  Macbeth.  "  Nothing-  could  more  clearly 
prove  the  great  genius  of  Mrs.  Siddons  than  that 
she  has  been  able  to  stamp  upon  the  public  mind 
this  amazing  misconception."  He  concludes  thus: 
"  Such  plays  as  '  Nina  Sforza  '  of  Mr.  Broughton, 
the  'Legend  of  Florence'  of  Leigh  Hunt,  and 
'  The  Blot  on  the  Scutcheon '  and  '  Colomba's 
Birthday '  of  Robert  Browning,  are  vigorous  pro- 
tests against  these  errors  of  the  stage,"  which,  he 
hopes,  are  passing  away.  He  says:  "  The  poems 
and  plays  of  Robert  Browning  breathe  a  new  life, 
and  if  as  yet  they  have  only  found  '  fit  audience 
though  few,' they  are  stimulating  the  best  thought 
of  this  age  and  infusing  new  life  and  spirit  into 
it." 

Story's  friendship  with  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Browning 
covered  a  period  of  many  years,  and  upon  the 
death  of  Mr.  Browning  in  Venice,  December  12, 
1889,  it  was  Story  who  was  sent  for  to  take  charge 
of  his  affairs.  They  both  loved  the  Italian  land, 
and  upon  the  outer  wall  of  the  Rezzonio  Palace  is 
inserted  a  tablet  upon  which  are  engraved  these 
words: 

A 

Robert  Browning 

morto  in  questo  Palazzo 

il  12  Dicembre,  1889. 

Venezia 

Pose. 


W.   IV.  Story  and   Tommaso  Salvini. 
(Discussing  Macbeth. ) 


MICHAEL  ANGELO,  ETC.  275 

Below  in  a  corner  are  two  lines  from  his  poem 
"DeGustibus": 

Open  my  heart  and  you  will  see 
Graved  inside  of  it,  Italy. 

There  are  to  be  seen  in  Mr.  Story's  studio  in 
Rome,  plaster-casts  of  busts  of  Mr.  and  Mrs. 
Robert  Browning,  from  which  marbles  were 
sculptured. 


LI. 

Golden   Wedding,  October   31,    1893,  and  Mrs. 
Story's  Death,  January  7,   1894. 

"  It  is  to  be  doubted  whether  the  golden  wed- 
ding of  any  Americans  on  the  continent  ever 
attracted  more  attention  than  did  that  of  Mr.  and 
Mrs.  Story.  This  event  was  celebrated  in  the 
autumn  of  1893.  Congratulations  poured  in  from 
wheresoever  the  English  language  was  spoken. 
The  presents  on  this  occasion  filled  several  rooms. 

"  It  was  as  a  brilliant  hostess  and  sincere  friend 

that  Americans  and  English  in  Italy  knew  Mrs. 

Story.     For    many    years    her    position    in    this 

respect  was  the  highest  in  Italy.     She  was  born  to 

shine  in  society,  just  as  her  husband  was  to  excel 

in  sculpture  and  literature.    She  held  her  position, 

too,  because  of  the  good  that  she  did.     She  was 

full  of  resources  for  entertaining  her  guests.     She 

was   as  ready  to  entertain  the  poor,  struggling 

artist  as  the  man  of  accomplished  fame.     She  was 

an  earnest  church  communicant.     Doctor  Nevin, 

rector    of    the  American    Episcopal    Church    of 

Rome,  had  no  more  attentive  listener  nor  more 

faithful  parishioner." 

(276) 


GOLDEN  WEDDING,  ETC.  277 

Mrs.  Story's  death  was  caused  by  progressive 
paralysis.  A  second  stroke  came  and  she  passed 
away  in  four  days.  One  of  the  most  sympathetic 
letters  on  this  occasion  came  to  Story  from  Mar- 
gherita,  Queen  of  Italy. 


LI1. 

Selections  from  "A  Poet's  Portfolio."  "Later 
Readings,"  by  William  Wetmore  Story,  D. 
C.  L.  (Oxon),  K.  C.  C.  I.,  Off.  Leg.  d'Hon- 
neur,  Etc. 

(1891-1894.) 

Among  the  ideal  shades  and  streams  of  lovely 
Vallombrosa  came  the  inspiration  of  "  He  and 
She,"  or  "A  Poet's  Portfolio."  "  Later  Readings  " 
was  added  three  years  after,  in  1894. 

It  was  "  in  these  regions  "  that  "  He  and  She," 
whether  real  or  imaginary  persons,  met  with 
"totally  unexpected  pleasure."  Bright  converse 
and  witty  repartee  formed,  with  nature,  a  dainty 
background  for  reading  "A  Poet's  Portfolio," 
whether  to  one  fair  woman  or  to  the  world. 

Upon  the  flyleaf,  in  these  lines  from  Shelley,  is 
found  the  plan  and  meaning  of  this  little  volume: 

And  how  we  spun 
A  shroud  of  talk  to  hide  us  from  the  sun 
Of  this  familiar  life!     .     .     .     or  how 
You  listened  to  some  interrupted  flow 
Of  visionary  rhyme,  in  joy  and  pain 
Struck  from  the  inmost  fountains  of  my  brain, 

(278) 


"A   POET'S   PORTFOLIO,"  ETC.  279 

With  little  skill,  perhaps;  or  how  we  sought 
Those  deepest  wells  of  passion  or  of  thought. 

And  now 
Our  talk  grew  somewhat  serious,  as  may  be 
Talk  interrupted  with  such  raillery 
As  mocks  itself,  because  it  can  not  scorn 
The  thoughts  it  would  extinguish. 

Though  cast  down  by  many  discouragements, 
what  student  of  art  would  not  feel  his  spirits 
rebound  in  reading  these  inspired  words  which 
Story  wrote  of  the  immortal  Phidias  ? 

Speak,  Phidias,  speak  and  say, 

Does  success  ever  wait  on  you  ? 
Have  you  never  failed  ?    Is  your  work  all  play  ? 

Do  you  find  nothing  hard  to  do  ? 

Ah,  my  friend,  every  road  that  leads 

To  the  easy,  with  the  hard  begins; 
Nothing  entirely  succeeds, 

To  Hope's  goal  nobody  wins. 

Hard?    Yes,  of  course,  it  was  hard! 

Failed?    Yes,  a  thousand  times! 
Victory  comes  to  the  scarred, 

The  heights  unto  him  who  climbs. 

Through  falling  we  learn  to  walk, 

Through  failure  we  grow  to  power; 
And  high  on  the  topmost  stalk 

Of  labor  is  art's  full  flower. 

Nature  in  art  seems  ever  to  have  been  an 
all-absorbing  study  with  the  sculptor.  "Aye,  that 
is  the  question:     What  is  nature?"  he  asks,  and 


280         REMINISCENCES  OF  W.  W.  STORY. 

goes  on  to  say:  "  The  great  object  of  the  artist, 
it  seems  to  me,  is  to  select  from  the  outward 
world  that  he  sees,  and  subordinate  it  to  some  idea 
or  sentiment  or  feeling,  not  servilely  to  copy  it. 
No  literal  reproduction  of  life  or  nature,  however 
accurate,  results  in  art.  The  spirit,  the  mind,  the 
soul,  must  come  in  to  give  them  life  and  truth." 

Story  says,  "  So  long  as  we  take  delight  in  life 
we  are  young."  A  glimpse  of  the  shadow  side  of 
his  own  fair  youth  is  given  in  the  following 
pathetic  lines: 

A  leaf,  a  name,  a  date 

Are  all  that  now  remain 
Of  that  glad  month,  that  golden  time, 

That  ne'er  will  come  again. 

A  faded  autumn  leaf  — 

But  at  its  touch  arise 
What  odors,  wafted  from  the  past 

Of  happy  memories! 

Thine  eyes  again  I  see, 

Thy  lips  again  I  press, 
Those  eyes  that  looked  such  love  to  mine; 

Those  lips  that  breathed  to  bless. 

Nothing  comes  back  again, 

Each  moment  hurries  on, 
Gives  us  a  kiss,  gives  us  a  stab, 

Greets  us,  and  then  is  gone. 

Yes,  for  a  moment  brings 

The  past,  and  then  again 
In  the  dim  past  it  vanishes 

To  leave  a  thrill  of  pain. 


"A   POET'S   PORTFOLIO,"   ETC.  281 

Fate,  with  relentless  whip, 

Lashes  the  present  by, 
The  future  tempts  us  but  to  cheat, 

The  past  is  one  long  sigh. 

The  sigh,  this  time,  was  accounted  to  neither 
sweetheart  nor  wife.  "  Oh,  I  am  a  fool,  I  know, 
but   that  day  was  one  which  I   passed  with  my 

sister  in  the  woods  at  B ,  when  we  were  both 

young,  and  both  happy,  and  both  trusting.  She 
was  half  of  my  life  to  me.  She  entered  into  all  my 
hopes,  cheered  me  in  all  my  ambitions,  gave  me 
always  the  wisest  and  tenderest  sympathy  and 
counsel.  She  was  what  only  a  sister  can  be,  and 
if  there  be  anything  good  in  me  I  owe  it  to  her. 
No  one  can  ever  fill  the  gap  that  she  left.  I 
never  wrote  anything  that  I  did  not  read  to  her, 
and  she  thought  everything  I  wrote  was  remark- 
able. Dear  creature!  She  had  scarcely  the  heart 
to  think  anything  of  mine  bad  or  to  depress  me 
by  any  severe  criticism." 

"  It  is  difficult  to  grow  old  gracefully,"  he  once 
wrote,  "  to  accept  quietly  and  with  dignity  the 
ravages  of  time,  to  make  no  pretense  one  way  or 
the  other,  and  to  enjoy  what  remains  of  life." 
That  he  himself  possessed  the  charming  art  of 
doing  so,  may  be  inferred  from  the  following  lines: 

After  the  early  morning's  splendor, 

After  the  radiant  noon, 
A  tenderer  sense  steals  over  nature 

As  the  sun  slopes  slowly  down. 


282         REMINISCENCES  OF  W.  W.  STORY. 

As  we  sit  in  the  twilight  gray  and  tender, 

Is  its  shadowy  light  less  dear, 
When  we  know  that  the  work  of  the  day  is  over 

And  the  stars  are  drawing  near  ? 

The  delicate  health  of  his  wife,  a  few  years 
prior  to  her  death,  shadowed  Mr.  Story's  usually 
bright  spirits  from  time  to  time  with  the  thought 
that  she  would  surely  precede  him  to  "The  Better 
Land."  This  depression  might  well  occasion  such 
lines  as  these: 

My  dearest  heart,  my  life,  my  joy,  my  love, 

Even  as  I  gaze  into  thy  loving  eyes, 
And  feel  their  blessing  like  the  heavens  above, 

At  times  the  o'erwhelming  thought  and  fear  will  rise 
Lest  thou  be  taken  from  me,  and  bereft 

Of  thy  dear  presence,  life's  sad  remnant  through, 
I  with  dead  memories,  graves  of  joy  be  left; 

Ah,  then,  what  should  I  do,  what  should  I  do? 

But  ah,  the  fearful  thought  like  some  dark  cloud 

Comes  o'er  my  spirit  that  at  last  alone 
I  may  be  left,  with  spirit  sad  and  bowed, 

Joyless  to  tread  life's  mournful  journey  on. 
Oh,  my  dear  love,  stay  with  me  to  the  end, 

My  hope,  my  joy,  my  life,  oh  stay  with  me! 
Till  the  dark  gates  of  death  shall  open,  lend 

The  blessing  of  thy  love  — my  angel  be. 

Knowing  his  bright,  sunny  temperament,  a 
woman  once  asked  Mr.  Story  why  it  was  that  his 
poems  were  all  so  sad.     He  replied: 

"  I  do  not  know.  I  suppose  that  far  down  in 
the  unfathomed  silences  of  our  natures,   unless 


"A   POET'S   PORTFOLIO,"   ETC.  283 

they  are  simply  thoughtless  and  superficial,  there 
is  a  prevailing  tone  of  seriousness  and  sadness. 
The  stream  of  life  only  sparkles  and  bubbles  on 
its  surface.  The  deeps  are  still,  and  there  the 
unknown  dwells."     , 

Yet  the  sculptor  had  a  keen  sense  of  humor,  as 
his  description  of  travelers'  stories  will  prove: 

"  Travelers'  stories  are  notorious.  A  man  who 
can  not  shoot  a  pea-gun  at  a  fly,  at  home,  does 
terrible  ravages  among  tigers  and  elephants  in  the 
East  and  South  and  the  wilds  of  Africa.  '  Then 
I  was  all  alone,  and  five  hundred  tigers  came 
down  upon  me,  roaring  for  food.  Fortunately  I 
had  with  me  my  own  patent  five-barreled,  self- 
loading  and  priming  gun.  You  should  see  that 
gun,  my  boy!  I  believe  there  is  not  such  another 
in  the  world.  As  the  wild  band  of  tigers  rushed 
at  me,  I  stood  firm  as  a  rock  and  took  deliberate 
aim  at  the  foremost  group,  and  in  less  than  a 
moment  one  hundred  of  them  groveled  on  the 
sand  in  their  death  struggles.'  There  is  no  com- 
puting how  many  lions  and  tigers  one  tremendous 
traveler  will  dispose  of  in  a  minute." 

Someone  spoke  to  him  rather  slightingly  of 
$100,000  as  not  being  any  great  amount  of 
money.  Mr.  Story,  with  a  bow,  said:  "What 
would  you  have,  Madam,  a  million  a  minute 
and  your  expenses  paid? " 

The  sculptor  had  a  careless  fashion  of  putting 


284        REMINISCENCES  OF  W.  W.  STORY. 

even  his  best  thoughts  on  all  sorts  of  paper. 
He  says:  "A  great  white,  spotless  sheet  almost 
frightens  me.  It  seems  like  a  challenge.  But 
with  any  old  worthless  sheet  I  feel  more  at  ease. 
I  scribble  on  all  sorts  of  fragments  of  paper,  too. 
That  is  a  fad  of  mine."  This  was  strictly  true. 
Even  bits  of  brown  paper  were  often  called  into 
use  to  catch  and  keep  his  passing  thoughts. 


LIII. 

Gwendolyn  Marion  and  Vivien  Waldo  Story. 
Mr.  and  Mrs.  Waldo  Story's  Removal  to 
Palazzo  Barberini.  Mrs.  W.  W.  Story's 
Death.     Monument  of  Mrs.  W.  W.  Story. 

(1894-1895.) 

In  old  Rome  there  lives  a  certain  little  maiden 
who  was  born  in  Florence.  The  sunlight  and 
fragrance  of  her  native  city  seem  a  part  of  her 
sweet  innocence  and  merry  ways.  This  little  one, 
Vivien  Waldo  Story,  was  the  very  spirit  of  sun- 
shine to  her  grandfather,  who  describes  her  under 
the  name  of 

WOGGINS. 

Singing  little  artless  snatches, 

Words  and  music  all  her  own, 
While  her  doll  she  tends  and  dresses, 

By  herself  but  not  alone. 
Round  from  room  to  room  she  wanders, 

Through  the  hall  and  up  the  stairs, 
And  her  sunny,  buoyant  spirit 

Knows  but  trivial  shades  and  cares. 

Now  she  brings  her  book  of  pictures, 
And  with  large  and  wondering  eyes. 

On  my  knee  she  sits  and  listens 
With  a  smile  of  young  surprise; 
(28s) 


286         REMINISCENCES  OF  W.  W.  STORY. 

While  I  tell  the  same  old  stories 

I  have  told  her  o'er  and  o'er, 
Scores  of  times,  yet  when  I  finish, 

With  a  shout  she  cries,  "Tell  more!" 

All  is  shut  to  poet,  artist, 

Till  he  be  a  child  again, 
And  in  play  shall  be  created 

What  was  never  born  of  pain. 

Vivien  is  the  sister  of  Gwendolyn  Marion 
Waldo  Story,  who  was  born  in  the  Palazzo  Bar- 
berini.  These  two  little  women  are  all  the  grand- 
children there  are  who  bear  the  name  of  Story. 
This  fact  apparently  worked  in  Gwendolyn's 
clever  brain,  until  one  day  she  settled  the  question 
in  her  own  young  mind,  and  announced  to  her 
family  that  she  intended  to  ask  her  husband  to 
change  his  name  for  that  of  Story,  as  she  always 
wished  to  keep  her  "  dear  grandpapa's  "  name. 

After  the  death  of  his  wife,  Mr.  Story  insisted 
that  his  son  Waldo  should  come  to  live  with  him 
in  the  Palazzo  Barberini.  Madam  Waldo  Story  is 
well  described  in  Milton's  lines  of  Eve: 

Grace  was  in  all  her  steps,  heaven  in  her  eye, 
In  every  gesture  dignity  and  love. 

The  presence  and  loving  devotion  of  this  son 
and  his  wife  and  children  proved  an  untold  bless- 
ing in  the  last  sad  days  of  the  artist's  life  in  Rome. 

Mrs.  W.  W.  Story  had  a  practical  side  which 
supplemented  the  studious  bent  of  the  sculptor. 


Gwendolyn  Marion  and  Vivien  Waldo  Story. 


MR.   STORY'S  GRANDCHILDREN.  287 

Mr.  Story  never  wrote  a  poem,  an  essay,  or  a 
dramatic  piece  without  submitting  it  to  his  wife, 
and  even  if  he  did  not  agree  with  her  opinion  he 
yet  knew  that  he  could  make  no  mistake  in  fol- 
lowing it.  As  in  literature,  so  in  art,  Mrs.  Story's 
critical  taste  was  a  thing  to  be  relied  on.  "  My 
wife  is  my  best  critic,"  was  Story's  frequent 
remark.  Intimate  friends  coming  upon  them 
unexpectedly,  often  found  the  sculptor  writing  or 
working  away  with  his  chisel,  with  his  wife 
enthusiastically  watching  by  his  side.  So  much 
was  Mrs.  Story  absorbed  in  her  husband's  various 
labors  that  when  her  physical  powers  failed — thus 
limiting  her  bodily  efforts,  though  not  her  intel- 
lect— she  grieved  and  became  silent. 

Mr.  Story's  last  work  in  marble  was  a  monu- 
ment to  his  wife.  It  was  begun  the  spring  after 
her  death,  which  occurred  January  7,  1893,  and  at 
the  suggestion  of  his  family  and  friends,  who  saw 
in  it  the  only  means  of  rescuing  him  from  the 
despair  of  his  grief.  It  was  a  labor  of  love  and 
inspiration.  It  represents  the  Angel  of  Grief  bit- 
terly weeping  over  the  dismantled  altar  of  his  life. 

Madame  M of  Philadelphia  said,  not  long 

ago:  "  He  and  my  sister  lived  the  two  happiest 
lives  I  know;  he  could  not  live  without  her,  and 
that  they  are  together  now  is  my  great  comfort." 


LIV. 

Decline  of  Health.  Vallombrosa.  Letter 
Describing  His  Last  Days  and  Passing 
Away.     Funeral  Services. 

(1894-1895.) 

During  the  winter  and  spring  of  1894-95  the 
sculptor  seemed  to  be  gradually  fading  away,  but 
was  still  strong  enough  when  the  warm  weather 
came  to  go  once  more  to  Vallombrosa —  the  sum- 
mer home  of  his  daughter,  the  Marchesa  Peruzzi 
de  Medici  —  that  leafy  retreat  from  whence,  dur- 
ing the  summers  that  had  flown,  so  many  tender 
rS  thoughts  went  out  from  his  facile  pen  to  gladden 

the  hearts  and  homes  of  the  English-speaking 
world.  There  is,  perhaps,  no  place  on  earth 
where  he  would  so  willingly  have  passed  away. 

The  Roman  Times,  dated  October  16th,  gives 
the  substance  of  a  letter  written,  by  the  daughter 
of  the  Marchesa  Peruzzi.     It  reads  thus: 

"  With  the  deepest  sorrow  my  mother  desires 
me  to  write  and  tell  you  that  my  dear  grand- 
father, Mr.  W.  W.  Story,  died  this  morning  quite 

suddenly  at  four  o'clock.     He  had  been  so  very 

(288) 


DECLINE   OF  HEALTH.  289 

well  of  late  that  he  had  even  been  able  to  occupy 
himself  in  looking  over  some  of  his  manuscripts 
for  publication,  and  took  great  interest  in  every- 
thing about  him.  He  was  so  happy  to  be  up  in 
these  lovely  woods  of  Vallombrosa,  having 
always  had  the  greatest  affection  for  the  place, 
and  he  was  able  to  sit  out  of  doors  the  greater 
part  of  the  day,  reading  and  being  read  to. 

"  Yesterday  being  a  glorious  day,  he  was  able 
to  take  a  longer  drive  than  usual  in  his  bath- 
chair,  and  was  full  of  his  old  spirit  and  talk,  more 
than  he  had  been  for  a  long  time.  In  the  even- 
ing we  all  sat  talking,  as  usual,  in  the  old  draw- 
ing-room he  liked  so  much,  and  when  we  went  to 
bed  we  were  not  anxious  about  him. 

"  My  mother's  room  is  next  to  his,  and  hearing 
him  moan,  she  went  to  him  at  three  o'clock  and 
arranged  his  pillows  with  the  aid  of  the  maid. 
While  she  was  arranging  them  he  suddenly 
passed  away,  without  any  suffering,  in  her  arms, 
and  the  doctor  was  summoned,  but,  of  course,  too 
late.     He  died  of  paralysis  of  the  heart." 

The  end  came  peacefully.  From  the  home  of 
his  only  daughter  his  spirit  took  its  flight.  "  Oh, 
dear,  I  am  so  glad  to  have  you  with  me,"  were  his 
last  words,  precious  in  memory  to  her,  who  loved 
him  so  tenderly  all  her  life. 

Vallombrosa  was  a  fitting  place,  and  early 
October  a  fitting  time,  for  the  falling  of  the  last 

19 


290        REMINISCENCES  OF  W.  W.  STORY. 

leaves  from  a  tree  which  half  a  century  ago  was 
in  the  fullness  of  its  splendor  and  strength. 
Lovingly  they  brought  him  back  to  Rome,  the 
Eternal;  to  the  scenes  so  familiar  and  endeared  to 
him  for  over  forty-five  years  of  association  and 
infinite  delights.  Here  were  held  solemn  funeral 
ceremonies  in  St.  Paul's  Episcopal  Church  and 
at  the  Protestant  cemetery  near  Porta  San  Paolo 
and  the  Pyramid  of  Cestius.  His  family  and 
many  members  of  the  American  and  English 
colonics  and  of  Italian  society  were  present. 
America,  England,  and  Russia  were  represented 
by  their  charges  d'affaires. 

A  friend  who  was  present  during  these  last 
scenes  spoke  of  them  thus: 

"  Who  was  a  more  perfect  embodiment  of 
unselfish,  loving  interest  in  others,  of  largeness  of 
soul  and  purity  of  sentiment,  of  conscientious  —  I 
may  almost  say  spontaneous  —  devotion  to  the 
realization  of  lofty  and  noble  ideals,  than  our  dead 
poet-artist,  William  Wetmore  Story  ? 

"  The  Psalm  of  Life,  which  is  really  Mr.  Story's 
'  Ode  to  Nemesis,'  is  only  one  of  the  many  stanzas 
of  his  life,  which  was  indeed  '  a  rare,  sweet  song.' 
As  I  stood  with  those  who  so  loved  this  man,  who 
was  as  great  in  his  goodness  as  in  his  genius,  it 
seemed  almost  impossible  to  realize  that  pen  and 
chisel  were  both  laid  away  forever.  But  memory, 
which  is  one  of  the  sweetest  and  most  priceless 


DECLINE   OF   HEALTH.  291 

gifts  God  ever  gave  —  memory  of  him  will  always 
live  and  always  inspire.  Memory  is  immortal;  so 
is  the  influence  of  such  a  man  as  he,  and  it  is 
sweet  and  moving  as  the  breath  of  the  flowers 
that  joined  their  tribute  about  his  grave  that 
day." 

In  the  silent  city  on  the  hillside,  hedged  in  by 
Roman  walls,  rests,  with  the  love  of  his  life  and 
their  little  son,  all  that  is  mortal  of  William 
Wetmore  Story. 


THE    END. 


APPENDIX. 

LITERARY  WORKS  OF  W.  W.  STORY. 

1842  —  Contributions  of  Wm.  W.  Story  to  the  Boston  Mis- 
cellany, edited    by  his  friend    and   classmate, 
Nathan  Hale;  Volume  I,  January  to  July,  1842: 
Page     104.      Sonnet  — "The     Poet's    Soul"; 

signed,   W.   W.    Story. 
Page  113.    Tale  — "The   Student   Antonio"; 

signed,  W.  W.  S. 
Page  155.    Sonnet  —  "The  Poet"  ;  signed,  W. 

W.  Story. 
Page  167.    Poem—  "  Music  ";  signed,  W.  W.  S. 
Page  24S.   Prose  Sketch  —  "Catachus";  signed, 

W.  W.  S. 
Page  273.     Poem  —  "  The  Artist";  signed,  W. 
W.  Story. 
Volume  II,  July  to  December,  1842: 

Page  9.    Poem  —  "The  Stream  of  the  Rock"; 

translation;  signed,  W.  W.  S. 
Page    79.      Prose     Essay — "Sympathy    and 

Antipathy";  signed,  W.  W.  Story. 
Page  122.    Poem  —  "  Phases";  signed,  W.  W. 
Story. 

Page   271.     Poem  —  "Lines    to ,"  begins 

"It    was   a    still   October  night";    signed, 
W.  W.  Story. 
Report  of  cases  argued  and  determined  in  the  Cir- 
cuit Court  of  the  United  States;  Boston. 
Address  delivered  before  the  Harvard  Musical  Asso- 
ciation; Boston. 

(292) 


APPENDIX.  293 

1843 —Contributions    of    W.    W.    Story  to    the    Pioneer, 
edited  by  James  R.  Lowell  and  R.  Coster;  only 
three  volumes  —  January  to  March,  1843: 
Page  12.     Prose  Essay  —  "  Catalogue  of  Athe- 
naeum Pictures";  signed,  I.  B.  Wright. 
Page  65.      Prose —  "Dream    Love";    signed, 

I.  B.  Wright. 
Page  121.     Prose  —  "Dream   Love";  signed, 

I.  B.  Wright. 
Page  100.     Poem —  "  A  Lament";  signed,  W. 

W.  Story. 
Page   132.      Prose   Essay  —  "John   Flaxman," 
with  design  of  head;  signed,  W.  W.  Story. 
1844  —  "Nature  and  Art,"  a  poem  delivered  before  the  Phi 
Beta    Kappa    Society   of    Harvard    University; 
Boston. 
"  Treatise  on  the  Law  of  Contracts  not  under  Seal"; 
Boston. 
1846 —  Edited — "  Commentaries  on  the  Law  of  Bailments"; 
written  by  Judge  Story. 
Edited — "  Commentaries  on  the   Law  of    Partner- 
ship"; written  by  Judge  Story. 
1847  —  "Treatise  on  the  Law  of  Sales  of  Personal  Prop- 
erty"; Boston.      With  illustrations  from  foreign 
law. 
"  Poems";  Boston. 
1851  —  Edited—' '  Life  and  Letters  of  Joseph  Story";  Boston. 
1856  —  "Poems"  —  Prologue  on  Crawford's  statue  of  Bee- 
thoven; Music  Hall,  Boston. 
"Poems" — Second  edition;  revised  with  additions; 
Boston. 
1862 —  "  The  American  Question";  London. 
1862-1863  —  "  Letters  on  American  Neutrality";  London. 
1862  —  "  Roba  di  Roma";  London. 

i865  — "  Proportions  of  the  Human  Figure,"  according  to  a 
new  canon,  for  practical  use,  with  illustrations; 
London. 


294  APPENDIX. 

1868  —  "  Graffiti  d'  Italia";  Edinburgh  and  New  York. 
1869 — "Mystery  and  Passion   Plays";   December  Black- 
wood. 
1870  —  "  A  Roman  Lawyer  in  Jerusalem  ";  Boston. 
1872 — "  Preface  to  Wey's  Rome." 

"  Nero  ";  an  historical  play;  Edinburgh. 
1876 — "  Phidias  to  Pericles";  February  Atlantic  Monthly. 
1877 — "  Girolamo    detto    II    Fiorentino";     May    Atlantic 
Monthly. 
"  Castle  St.  Angelo  "  and  the  "  Evil  Eye." 
"  A  Dream  ";  June  Atlantic  Monthly. 
"  Stephania";  printed  later  by  Blackwood. 
"  In  Memoriam";  John  Lothrop  Motley,  October;  by 
Blackwood. 

1878  — "  Roba     di    Roma,"    Poem;     November    Atlantic 

Monthly. 
January  and  February,  "The   Origin  of  the  Italian  Lan- 
guage"; North  American  Review. 
"  Ode,"  on  the  Anniversary  of  the  Fifth  Half  Century 
of  the  Landing  of  Governor  Endicott;  New  York. 

1879  —  "  Stephania";  printed  by  Blackwood. 

"  A  Roman  Holiday  Twenty  Years  Ago  ";  February 

Atlantic  Monthly. 
"  Salem  Ode";  Salem,  Mass. 

1880  —  "  Vallombrosa  " ;  Edinburgh. 

"  A  Lay  Confessional";  July  Blackwood. 
"  Do  You  Remember";  January  A tlantic  Monthly. 
1S83  — "  A  New  Poet";  October  Blackwood. 

"  He  and  She,"  or,  "  A  Poet's  Portfolio";  Boston. 

1885  —  "  Poems"  (Boston,  1886);  Edinburg. 

1886  —  "  Fiammetta";  A  Summer  Idyl;  Boston. 

"Poems";  Boston. 

"  To  Zeuxis";  Atlantic  Monthly. 

1890  —  "  Conversations  in  a  Studio  ";  Boston. 

1891  —  "  Excursions  in  Art  and  Letters";  Boston. 

1892  —  "In  the  Corso;   Great  Street  of  the  World";  New 

York. 


APPENDIX.  295 

1893—  "  The  Death  of  Alexander  VI  —  Csesar  Borgia";  De- 
cember Blackwood. 
"A  Poet's  Portfolio";  "Later  Readings";  Boston. 

Dates  of  the  following  works  are  not  known: 

"  Dieppe;  and  its  Celebrated  Navigators." 

"State  Secrets." 

"  Edged  Tools." 

"  Cross  Purposes." 

"  In  a  Studio." 

"Second  Thoughts." 
Taken  from  lists  sent  to  Miss  Eliza  Allen  Starr  for  her 
"  Lectures  Upon  Living  Artists,"  made  by  W.  W.  Story; 
also  one  furnished  by  Col.   T.    W.    Higginson,   of  Cam- 
bridge, Mass. 


STATUES  MODELED    BY  W.  W.  STORY. 

(From  a  list  made  by  himself  for  Miss  Eliza  Allen  Starr's  "  Lecture 
on  Living  Artists.") 

1852  —  Mr.  Justice  Story— Mt.  Auburn  Cemetery  Chapel, 

Cambridge,  Mass. 
Arcadian  Shepherd  Boy  —  Boston  Library. 
Hero  Waiting  for  Leander  —  Wm.  Douglass,  New 

York. 
Marguerite  of  Faust  —  Repeated  several  times.     W. 

Russell  Sturgis. 
i860  —  Cleopatra,  seated  —  Goldsmith's  Co.  Hall,  London. 

Repeated  several  times. 
Judith  Making  her  Prayer  Upon  Slaying  Holofernes 

— M.  Guiness,  Dublin. 
The  Libyan  Sibyl  —  Charles  Morrison,  Lord  Went- 

worth,  London;  Mrs.  Dodge,  Boston;  Count  Palffy, 

Paris;  Goldsmith's  Co.,  London. 
Portrait  Statue  of  Josiah  Quincy —  Harvard  College. 


296  APPENDIX. 

i860  — Venus  Anadyomene  — Wm.  Stirling  Crawford;  Thos. 
Critchley. 
Sappho— W.  Stirling  Crawford,  London;  J.  C.  Peter- 
son, Philadelphia;  Martin  Brimmer,  Boston. 

1863  —  Bacchus  and  Panther. 

Race  with  Goats— Basso  Relievo;  E.  S.  Bergen, 
London. 

Saul,  When  the  Evil  Spirit  "Was  on  Him  — Sir  Francis 
Goldsmith;  Count  Paltry;  Mrs.  Shillaber,  Cali- 
fornia. 

1864  — Cleopatra  Remodeled  —  Paran  Stevens,  New  York; 

Count  Palffy,  Paris;  Goldsmith's  Co.,  London. 
Medea  Meditating  the  Death  of  her  Children  —  Wm. 
H.  Stone,  New  York -London;  W.  Dudley  Park- 
man,  Boston,  Metropolitan  Museum. 
1866  — Statue  of  Edward  Everett  —  Public  Garden,  Boston. 
Delilah  —  Edward  Mathews,  New  York;  Theo.  Shil- 
laber, California. 
1866-67  —  Love  Proposing  his  Enigma  to  the  Sphinx. 

Statue  of  Geo.  Peabody —  London  and  Baltimore. 
1867-68  — Fauness  and  Child  —  Robert  Garrett,  Baltimore. 
1868-69— Vesta— Lady  Ashburton,  London;  Count  Palffy, 
Paris. 
Polyxena  —  John  Bixby. 
1869-70  — Salome— Marshall  O.  Roberts,  New  York. 
Helen  —  I.  W.  Vanderbilt,  New  York. 
Restoration    of    the   Antique  Statue  of  Artemisia 
in  the  British  Museum,  London. 
1870-71— Jerusalem  in  her  Desolation  — Mrs.  N.  M.  Gregg, 
now  in  Philadelphia  Academy  of  Fine  Arts. 

1871  — Shakespere  Statuette  —  George  Griswold,  Dresden. 

Frank  Higginson,  Boston;  Pierpont  Morgan,  New 
York;  W.  W.  Tucker,  Boston. 

1872  — Semiramis  — E.  L.  S.  Benzon,  London;  Wm.  Blod- 

gett,  New  York. 
Electra  at  the  Tomb  of  Agamemnon  — I.  Taggart, 
London. 


APPENDIX.  297 

1872-73  —  Beethoven,    standing    Statuette  —  George    Gris- 
wold. 
Beethoven,  sitting  Statuette  —  Queen  of  Italy. 
Cumaen  Sibyl. 
1874  —  Alcestis  Returning  from  the  Other  World  —  Count 
Palffy,    Paris;   Lady  Ashburton,   London;    I.    S. 
Morgan,  London. 
Phryne  Before  the  Tribunal. 
1874-75  —  Monument  to   Liberty  Designed.     Sketched  the 
Figure  of  Liberty,  seven  feet  high. 
Lear  in  the  Storm —  Statuette. 
1876-77 — Clytemnestra,  After  the  Murder  of  Agamemnon 

—  Count  Palffy. 
1877  —  Eros — Went  to  America. 

1879  —  Sardanapalus  —  Lord    Battersea,    London;     Count 

Palffy,    Paris. 
Shakespere  —  Mrs.  Francis  W.  Tracy;  J.  S.  Morgan. 

1880  —  Figure  with  Vase  —  Mr.  Mackay;  Mrs.  Shillaber. 

Statue  of  Colonel  Prescott,  Colossal,  in  Bronze,  at 
Bunker  Hill. 

1881  — Saul  Remodeled  —  Count  Palffy;  Mrs.  Shillaber. 

Colossal  Statue  of  Professor  Henry  at  Washington. 
Centaur  and  Nymph. 
1881-82  —  Orestes  Fleeing  from  the  Furies  —  Count  Palffy. 

1882  — Statue  of  Chief  Justice   Marshall  with  two  Reliefs 

for  Pedestal,  Washington  City,  D.  C. 
1883-84—  Orpheus  —  Count  Palffy. 
1884—  Miriam  Singing  her  Song  of  Triumph. 
1884-85  —  New  Statue  of  Cleopatra  reclining  on  a  Couch. 
Statue  of  Ezra  Cornell  —  Chapel  of  Cornell  Univer- 
sity. 
Statue  of  William  Cullen  Bryant — Colossal. 
Monument  to  Francis   Scott   Key  —  with    Colossal 
Statue  of  America  and  Francis  S.  Key,  Golden 
Gate  Park,  San  Francisco. 
1886-87  —  Statue  of  Christ,  "  Come  unto  me,  all  ye  who  are 
heavy  laden." 


298 


APPENDIX. 


1887  —  Into  the  Silent  Land,   group  of  two  figures  —  W. 

Thatcher  Adams. 
1887-88  — Thetis  and  Achilles. 

Bust  of  Shakespere. 

Canidia,  the  Sorceress  —  Date  unknown. 
Date  not  known  —  Polyphemia. 

Lord  Byron  Statuette  —  I.  Wood. 

Eve  in  Paradise  Statuette. 
1894-95  —  Monument  to  Mrs.  W.  W.  Story. 


BUSTS  MODELED  BY  W.  W.  STORY. 


Shelley, 
Keats, 

Washington , 
Lord  Houghton, 
Mr.  Justice  Story, 
Richard  H.  Dana,  Jr., 
Shakespere, 

Beethoven  —  G.  Griswold, 
Mrs.  Eward  Cooper, 
Theodore  Parker, 
Robert  Browning, 
Mrs.  Browning, 
J.  L.  Motley, 
Charles  Carroll, 
Doctor  Ballou, 
Chas.  F.  Adams, 
Mrs.  Franklyn  Dexter, 
Sketches  and  statuettes  without 


Mrs.  Sargent, 
Mrs.  W.  W.  Story, 
Queen  Esther  (Ideal), 
Marchesa  Peruzzi, 
J.  S.  Morgan, 
General  McClellan, 
Bishop  Mcllvaine, 
Mrs.  Erkenbrecker, 
Mr.  Erkenbrecker, 
Mrs.  W.  W.  Astor, 
Mr.  Borie, 
Mrs.   Borie, 
Mrs.  Garrett, 
Juliet, 
Ed.  Banzon, 
W.  W.  Story. 

number. 


INDEX. 

Abbott,  S.  L 49.  50 

Advice  to  a  Young  Lawyer,  poem 59,  60 

Alcestis,  statue 181 

Allston,  Washington ...22,32,  33,  66 

American  Neutrality,  essay 142-146 

America,  Visit  to 185-200 

Ancestry - 17-22 

Angelo,  Michael,  essay 262-265 

Antonius,  Student,  essay 62-64 

Arcadian  Shepherd  Boy,  statue no 

Barberini  Palazzo  (Roman  home) 97 

Beethoven,  bust 125,  182 

statuettes 1 75  >  176 

Blunt,  WilfordS 249 

Bologna  University,  Festival  of 254-256 

Boston  Miscellany 62 

Bowditch,  W.  I.. -- 56 

Broadwood,  Miss  Maud 22S 

Brooks,  Henry  M. 24 

Browning,  Robert. .88,  100,  113-115,  126,  150,  162,  165, 

-. -- ...224,  274,  275 

Mrs.  R 89-91,  93,  95,  100,  126 

Bryant,  William  Cullen - -  199 

statue 240 

Byron ,  Lord 93 

statuette. ..212,  249 

Cambridge,  Thirty  Years  Ago 29-32 

Canidia,  statue 165,  166 

Casting  in  Plaster,  The  Art  of,  essay 266-269 

Castle  Palo,  poem 120 

(299) 


3°o  INDEX. 

Castle  St.  Angelo  and  The  Evil  Eye 202 

"Catalogue  of  Paintings,"  W.  W.  Story's,  essay 64,  65 

Cemetery,  Protestant _.g,  290,  291 

Centaur  and  Nymph,  group. 225 

Childhood,  poem 27 

Christ,  statue 248,  249 

Citizenship,  American 245-247 

Cleopatra,  poem 230-232 

Cleopatra,  First,  statue 131-135 

Cleopatra,  Reclining,  statue 229 

Clytemnestra,  statue 204 

Conversations  in  a  Studio 57,  58 

Coolidge,  J.  T 44 

Cornell,  Ezra,  statue 239 

Cousins,  Mr.  Frank 23,  24 

Cumsean  Sibyl,  statue _  _ 1 74,  1 75 

Cupid  and  Sphinx,  group 156 

Curtis,  Geo.  Ticknor 57 

Dall,  Mrs... 54,  55 

Dana,  R.  H.,  Jr 22,  52 

Dane,   Mr 21 

Decline  of  Health 288 

Decorations,  Honors  and 256 

Delilah,  statue 153 

Dexter,   Arthur 152,  159 

Dexter,  Mrs.  Franklin 33 

Distortions  of  the  English  Stage,  essay 272 

Do  You  Remember?  poem 221,  222 

Dream,  A,  poem _. 207,  208 

Dream  Love,  essay ..67-70 

Eldredge,  Emelyn  (Mrs.  W.  W.  Story) 39,  72 

Estrangement,  An,  poem 120 

Europe,  Preparations  for 87 

Everett,  Edward 22,  152,  153 

Excursions  in  Art  and  Letters,  essay.. 262-274 

Fairyland,  poem. 117,  118 

Fiammetta,  fiction 244,  245 


INDEX.  301 

Fireside  Travels 29,  43 

Florence,  Life  in 92-95 

Fuller,  Margaret  (Ossoli) .54,  71,  88,  92-95,  102 

Funeral  Services 290,  291 

Girolamo  detto  il  Fiorentino,  poem 206,  207 

Graffiti  d'  Italia,  poems 1 58-161 

Grant,  Gen.  U.  S. 100 

Greenleaf,  Simon 22,  50 

Hale,  Nathan ...38,  62,  71,  81 

Harvard  College,  Second  Centennial  Festival 41-43 

Hawthorne,  Nathaniel 28,  54,  89,  100,  103,  133,  134 

Helen,  statue _.  172 

Hennin,  Alfred 22S 

Hero,  statue _ no 

Higginson,  Col.  T.  W 37-40,  61,  62,  72,  92,  188 

Hilliard,  George  S. 57,  81 

Holmes,  Oliver  Wendell 201 

Home,  Cambridge 21,  34-40 

Home,  Salem... 24,  25 

Hosmer,  Miss  Harriet 102 

Hunt,  Leigh 100,  261,  274 

Hutton,  Laurence 267 

In  St.  Peter's,  poem 121,  122 

Into  the  Silent  Land,  group. 245 

Io  Victis,  poem 249-251 

Italy  and  New  England,  poem 122,  123 

Jerusalem,  statue 167,  168,  182 

Jewish  Rabbi  in  Rome,  A,  poem. 21S-220 

Judith,  statue 126,  127 

Keats 90,  93.  94 

Kent,  Chancellor. £2,  41,  10S 

Key  Monument -  240-243 

La  Fayette,  General 24,  27 

Landor,  W.  S 100,  126,  261 

Later  Readings,  poems 278,  282 

Lay  Confessional,  A _ 217 

Lear,  statuette 181 


302  INDEX. 

Lecture,  W.  W.  S. ,  American  Art 1S7,  191-195 

Libyan  Sibyl.. 130-133,  175 

Life  and  Letters  of  Joseph  Story,  The,  biography..  .18,  107 
Lowell,  James  Russell 29,  39,  57,  59,  62,  71,  83,  106, 

119. 137-139.  I5i>  152, 162,  214 

M ,  Madame. 57.  73.  83,  287 

Marcus  Antoninus,  poem.. 230 

Marcus  Aurelius,  A  Conversation  with 269-272 

Marguerite,  statue in 

Marshall,  Chief  Justice 22 

statue 225 

Martineau,  Miss 47.  4§ 

Medea,  poem  and  statue. 149,  150 

Miriam,  statue 232 

Mistake,  poem 81-83 

Monument,  Mrs.  W.  W.  Story's 286,  2S7 

Moot-court -  -     52 

Motley,  John  Lothrop.. 144.  145.  179.  201 

In  Memoriam,  poem 202 

Mystery  or  Passion  Plays,  essay 165 

Nature  and  Art,  poem 73 

Nemesis,  statue  and  poem 258,  259 

Nero,  The  Tragedy  of 182 

Neven,  Doctor. 276 

Norton,  Charles  Eliot 106,  151 

Orestes,  statue  and  poem 226,227 

Origin  of  Italian  Language,  essay 210,  211 

Orr,  Mrs.  Sutherland 89,  113,  126,  165,  224 

Oxford,  Honorary  D.  C.  L.  of 247 

Palmer,  Sir  Roundell 145 

Parker,  Theodore,  medallion.. ---259.  260 

Peabody,  George,  statue . 155,  156 

Pecci,  Cardinal 99 

Pedrick,  Mehitable 18 

Perkins,  Charles  C. 266 

Peruzzi,  Marchesa  Edith  (see  Edith  Marion  Story) 

223,  244,  2S7 


INDEX.  3° 


ow>> 


Peruzzi,  Marquis  Simone 184 

Signorina 2S6-289 

Petition,  Roman-American  Artists' .233-238 

Phi  Beta  Kappa,  poem . 73 

Phidias 279 

and  the  Elgin  Marbles -265,  266 

Phillips,  Wendell 1S5 

Phryne  Before  the  Tribunal,  statue  and  poem 177 

Pierce,  Edward  L 46,  5S 

Pioneer,  Contributions  to  the 64-70 

Pius  IX,  Pope. 104,  105,  135 

Poems,  Publication  of  First  Volume 81 

Portfolio,  A  Poet's 36.  278-283 

Powers,  Hiram 73 

Prologue  for  Crawford's  Statue  of  Beethoven,  poem.  124,  125 

Proportions  of  the  Human  Form,  The 154,  155,  246 

Publications,  W.  W.  Story's  Law... 60,  61 

Queen  of  England 246 

Queen  of  Italy ---254.  255,  277 

Quincy,  Josiah 21,  43,  109 

statue 127,  128 

Race  with  Goats,  basso  relievo —  129 

Red  Riding  Hood,  statue... 129 

Respectability,  poem .. S4 

Roba  di  Roma,  poem 140,  141 

prose  volume 136-140 

Rogers,  Randolph 1S9,  238 

Roman  Holiday,  A.. 213-216 

Roman  Lawyer  in  Jerusalem,  A 178 

Rome,  Life  in 95 

Salem,  A  Half  Century  in 25-27 

Ode 208,  209 

Salome,  statue 166 

Sappho,  statue  and  poem. .147-  !4S 

Sardanapalus,  statue 211,  212 

Saul,  statue -14S,  1  i-> 

Scotland,  Summer  Vacation  in 164 


304  INDEX. 

Shadows,  poem 84 

Shelley,  bust 261,  279 

Sherwood,  Mrs.  M.  E.  W 57 

Shillaber,  Mr.  and  Mrs.,  Reception  to  W.  W.  Story  by 

198, 199 

Silsbee,  M.  C.  D 25 

Starr,  Eliza  Allen 7,  32,  85,  86,  112 

Stephania,  The  Tragedy  of 182,  183 

St.  Moritz,  Summer  Vacation  in 164 

Story,  Dr.  Elisha 17,  18 

Edith  Marion  (see  Marchesa  Peruzzi) 

74,  100,  101,  114,  115,  117,  118,  184 
Gwendolyn  Marion  Waldo 286 

Henry  G. ---  226 

Joseph  (son  of  W.  W.  Story) 85,  100,  113-117 

Judge  Joseph  ..8,  17,  18,  20,  22,  27,  34,  35,  40,  41, 
43,  45-49.  51-53.  58,  59.  75.  77.  79.  80,  107-109, 

in,  113,  152,  153,  185 

Julian 126,  172 

Mrs.  Julian 172 

Louisa 24,  36 

Mary  Oliver 23,  36,  37,  39,  281 

Sarah  Waldo -  -  - 20,108 

Vivien  Waldo 285,  286 

Waldo.. 118,  171,  172,  228,  252,  286 

Mrs.  Waldo  (see  Miss  Maud  Broadwood) 286 

William  Wetmore,  Birth 23,  24 

Boyhood. 24-41 

Childhood 23-28 

Deaths 289 

Fellowship    of    Metropolitan 

Museum 226 

Graduates  from  Harvard 50 

Law  School.     53 

Law,  Practice  of 57 

Legion  of  Honor 209 

Life    Social 71 


INDEX.  305 

Story,  William  Wetmore,  Originality 205 

Personal  Appearance  of 188 

Profession,  Giving  up  Legal.  85,  87 
Sculpture,  First  Commission 

in 79,  80 

Mrs.  W.  W.  (see  Emelyn  Eldrege) 74,  92,  94, 

98,  244,  276,  282,  287 

Stowe,  Mrs.  H.  B 130 

Studios,  First  and  Second  Roman 102,  103 

Studio,  Via  San  Martino 169-171 

Sumner,  Charles 46,  47,  57,  58,  179 

In  Memoriam ^ 180 

Switzerland,  Summer  Vacation  in... 164 

Tennyson 100 

Thackeray,  William  M.  _ 101 

Thetis  and  Achilles,  group. 253,  254 

Tuckerman,  Charles  K. 260 

Vallombrosa 222-224,  244,  288,  289 

Vedder,  Elihu 238 

Venus  Anadyomene,  statue 129 

Villa  Conti,  At,  poem 123,  124 

Wales,  Prince  of 155 

Wallace,  Mrs.  Lew 87,  102,  199 

Washington,  George,  mask  and  bust 268 

Monument,  W.  W.  S.'s  Views  on 195-197 

Webster,  Daniel 22,  57,  59 

Wedding,  Golden 276 

Wetmore,  Mr.  John 93,  94 

Wey's  Rome,  Introduction  to 174 

Woggins 285 


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